


Don't Treat Me Like the Past

by LemonKith



Series: A Liars' Romance [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: I know Wyoming looks like a player from the tags, M/M, Multi, but he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonKith/pseuds/LemonKith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling apart. After Project Freelancer, everything is just falling apart for Agents Florida, Wyoming and the AI Gamma. All they want to be is together.</p><p>Red vs. Blue, The Blood Gulch Chronicles, from their perspective. And all the other parts of their lives the sim troopers never saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Home Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back! Since this is the sequel to ‘You Save Me from Myself’ I would recommend you read that to fully understand this story. You could try without it but if you’re in for the long-haul with this full-sized story, you might as well go the whole distance and read that first.
> 
> If you're here for the Doc/O'Malley tag alone, you may want to go forward to chapter 7 where O'Malley first appears.
> 
> The structure is a bit different this time. The first third of each chapter is Butch’s and covers his time in Blood Gulch before he dies, which is what that major character death tag up there is for. The rest is Reginald and Gamma’s. Their part is the ‘main’ storyline with all the drama to end each chapter on.  
> The change in POV is signalled by one of these ~+~ ~#~ ~+~ fancy shisnos. And, importantly, the two parts are NOT happening at the same chronological time.
> 
> Edit 25/6/16 - Author note: This story was written before Season 14 of Red vs. Blue aired. The things revealed in that therefore don't fit with some of this fic, particularly relating to the Blood Gulchers on Butch's side. My response to that is a casual shrug and a dislike of Rooster Teeth giving one set 'canon' for how the Reds and Blues got signed up to Blood Gulch; I like everyone being able to create their own backstory for them. So this is mine.  
> That said, the canon isn't too far from what's portrayed here so they can kind of be reconciled with a little creative imagination if you really want to fit it all together.

Red and Blue...

Everyone was going to be told it was Red _versus_ Blue, the silly sausages, and it made Agent Florida chuckle-

No, Captain Butch Flowers now. No more Agent Florida. A real shame, really. Florida had been such a nice name to go by.

Butch sat in the back of the automated transport ship inspecting the new set of files he’d been given on his datapad, the personnel files of everyone else to be stationed with him in this place called...

Blood Gulch?

Nice little name.

Lavernius Tucker on his team. And on the red team, Richard Simmons, Dexter Grif and their commanding officer Sergeant-

Butch looked up at the slight clunk of the ship righting its path a little. These automated ships always felt like a rickety but ultimately safe fairground ride to him. Still, he was glad he had these personnel files for the trip; it was probably going to be long and he certainly wanted to know all their strengths and weaknesses if he was going to manage the pretend-conflict to the best of his ability.

And Butch had always loved knowing things about people without their knowledge.

The flight took just over three hours in the end. Butch made the rather sad discovery along the way that talking to the onboard computer didn’t speed up the flight. He hoped it liked hearing all about Reginald though; it sure made him feel better talking about the man he loved so much and had been torn from just hours ago. He couldn’t tell anyone once he was in Blood Gulch. No links to the Project and all that.

Eventually the ship slowed, no longer travelling through space but a planet’s gravity instead. He came to the front to watch out of the window as they descended, flying over all sorts of dry wasteland and desert areas – Was that a cow in one particularly fiery-looking part? – until they finally came to his deserted wasteland of a stop.

“Ahh. Home, Blood Gulchy home,” Butch hummed cheerfully to himself as he stepped out of the craft in the centre of this box canyon. The ship waited a few minutes then took off whilst he was still looking around.

Plenty of rocks, dry scrubby grass, a few defeated-looking trees – Boy, was that sun hot! He checked the information he’d been given on this place again before tentatively removing his helmet to check it was breathable here after all. If he hadn’t heard birds chirping distantly a few moments ago, he probably wouldn’t have trusted the file but he might as well give it a go. There were plants to give the air oxygen, and plenty of dusty soil to make it dry enough for Butch to choke on his first breath.

“Ugh, mm, ha.” After coughing a bit, his throat settled down and he was able to breathe normally here.

The sun was lazy but strong, a late summer afternoon at 4pm sort of feel even though his helmet clock said it was-

21:32?! This was meant to be night?!

The sun was only tilted over about 40º, shining down over one side of the rocky walls. It had to about 23ºc at least too. How was he meant to sleep in this?

Maybe it was summer here at the moment. That might explain why the flora around was pretty scarce and beaten down right now; more might pop up in later seasons.

Aside from all that, from his vantage point on one of the small hillocks in the bumpy centre of the valley, Butch could see two bases at opposite ends and were those caves in the wall over there? “Ho boy. I’m going to enjoy getting stuck into those holes!” They looked nice and dark and shady too; deep holes were always his favourite.

For now though, Butch hitched up his bag onto his shoulder, replaced his helmet and set off towards Blue Base.

A nice open place inside, three levels. It was airy and got plenty of natural light. Of course, natural light was hardly in short supply around here and Butch made a quick survey of the rooms before firmly staking his claim on the darkest possible one for himself. It still wasn’t without some light but it felt like lights down on the MOI at least.

Lunch next. Boxes of provisions had been dropped off outside the base and he took some into the basement but, as ever, he struggled when it came to shifting large boxes with his slender stature.

He certainly didn’t feel like a very _butch_ flower today.

Whilst he fell about laughing at himself, Butch could hear an old friend’s voice ring in his head:

_“Hey, Florida? Less crappy joking, more crappy hauling, you pansy.”_

Ah. He really would miss that pilot and her wonderful sense of humour. She would have smirked at that little joke of his.

Blinking the merry tears from his eyes, Butch placed his hands onto the crate again.

And paused.

He wouldn’t be able to tell Reginald that joke later today. He wouldn’t be able to spend 10 minutes crafting the perfect wording for it in his head, waiting all evening for the perfect moment to get that biggest laugh. No beautifully handsome face overtaken by joy. None of those cute little creases by his eyes when Reginald was laughing because he loved Butch just as much as he loved the joke.

There was a clunk as his bowed helmet came to rest on the edge of the box.

There would be years and years of these jokes he couldn’t tell, that he would have forgotten all about when they did meet again and then Reginald would never get to hear them.

 _“I can’t do this...”_ Butch shook his sorry head. _“I can’t...”_

There had to be a way back. This was so wrong.

Everything was just so wrong right now that he’d have to wake up, or be told it was all a prank, a test, a scheme to make him appreciate everything more.

It was all gone.

Butch pushed himself up, numbly shuffling the blue-marked crates into the base. He grabbed the first immediately edible thing from a random one – A small packet of plain cereal, no milk – and forced it down before beginning the long haul to take the remaining boxes to Red Base.

It was tiring. It was hot. It was dull green and dusty brown.

Butch spent the entire task staring down at the floor, not letting his mind think of anything. Just a soldier. Just a body.

A human being couldn’t have lived through the things he did.

He moved robotically onto the next task, sorting out weapons at both bases. Then there, at the bottom of the weapons crate for Blue Base...

A salvation.

Butch lifted it out carefully, delicately, holding it away from himself at first then cradling it close up to his chest after that. “Well, hello there...”

A sniper rifle, and the previous model too just like Reginald’s. The old-fashioned thing always insisted the aim on this was superior to the newer model; if you couldn’t hit someone with this, he would say, you couldn’t hit them at point blank range with a pistol.

“I made the funniest little joke earlier, you know...”

~

Butch stayed up preparing the bases all through that night and the next day. He couldn’t adjust to the time difference here, and certainly not with that eternal sun hanging around overhead. It went up a bit during the day and sank slightly for ‘night’ but it never grew dark in Blood Gulch. This place must be at a pole then, Butch hypothesised; his datapad wouldn’t allow him to find out much about the planet it was on.

One full day after he arrived, Butch tried to sleep for the first time. The bed was hardly luxurious but he’d slept in some places growing up which made falling asleep on a broken chair a luxury.

He had a bigger obstacle than the heat or the incessant sunlight, however. Sleeping in a single bunk by himself after he had come to think of them being for three, even if one didn’t take up any space in it, felt impossible. It felt lonely and like drowning. Sleeping on the floor was easier, even if old instincts kept waking him up every couple of hours for safety. He’d just have to take lots of standing naps throughout the day.

The days were easier, so in some ways the fact the sun never set was a blessing. Being active and exploring took his mind off things, back into old habits of wandering unfamiliar streets and searching out all their secrets.

Butch spent one long day exploring the caves. There really was a massive system of them underground, plenty of cool darkness to lose himself in. He enjoyed himself with the bats and snakes down there, even if the bats dripped on him a bit. Maybe it was about time he got another pet... The caves themselves were very lovely though. He could definitely see himself taking a nice, long nap down here soon.

On the fourth day after he arrived, Butch occupied himself tinkering with the Blue Base’s teleporter. He had set them up at both bases for basic warping into the middle of the canyon but there was a whole ‘Extras’ section of the manual to try.

“Now, that certainly sounds interesting: ‘Ionised Camouflage Setting’... Hold down the ‘F3’ key, ‘Sync’ button _and_ turn on your helmet radio at the same time?” Butch asked the manual in his lap with surprise. “Well, shucks. I should have gotten that third arm when they offered after all.” It did say to get a buddy to help you actually.

Butch looked up and around the very deserted canyon. He sighed.

“If you wouldn’t mind lending me a handle there, good buddy.” Butch jammed his constant companion, the sniper rifle, against one of the buttons. “There we go. Well then, let’s give it a spin, as they say.”

Stepping into the portal, Butch blinked at the harsh green light and waited the two seconds it took to spit you out the other side.

“Ooh! Boy!” he gasped a bit. It didn’t normally sting that much though. His armour felt very hot all of a sudden as if it was pinching him all over. “Oh! Well, would you look at that? I could be the spitting image of Agent Texas.” Butch rubbed lightly at the new black coating on his aqua armour. He chuckled. “What a wonderful little box of tricks!”

The setting was meant to disguise which team you were on for fights by dying you a neutral black. It had to be calibrated to your armour first, but now the black stuff seemed very fond of him. “I really hope you won’t think me an awful host, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to get off this nice, shiny, new armour of mine now,” Butch tried asking it, because the manual didn’t say how to get the camouflage off.

But ionisation... That was the same principle that stuck balloons to walls. Rubbing hard ought to work.

Very pleased to have something else to do, Butch went to reclaim the sniper rifle from the teleporter-

“Uhh... Oh darn.” The F3 key was stuck. He had jammed it down too hard. “I sure hope that isn’t going to cause any problems later.”

Just to check, Butch put the closest, least precious item through the teleporter.

Three seconds later, a flaming pile of ex-teleporter manual popped out in the middle of the canyon.

“...Well, darn my socks to Betsy and back. I think that could have gone better.” Butch frowned inside his helmet because now he had no clue how to un-calibrate his armour so that wouldn’t happen every time he went through. He tried dislodging the stuck button but only got it halfway, neither on nor off. Maybe he’d just have to make an ‘Out of Order’ sign or call up a technician later to fix this.

For now, he took his armour inside for some serious soot-removal. There was nothing like an evening stuck all alone rubbing off, after all.

~

“It really was such a sight! Their faces were like mirrors and there was me sitting there grinning like a child at Christmas,” Butch continued, tying with the sky blue ribbon he had tied around the barrel of the sniper rifle. “I couldn’t wait to see what we were doing first. But they took a bit of time to see-”

Butch’s babbling stopped as the whirr of an engine grew loud in the canyon. He sat up from where he had been lying on the roof of Blue Base admiring the cloudless sky at ‘night’ to watch a pelican flying in over his head.

He watched it cruise down the box canyon towards Red Base, coming to a stop and landing beside it. Butch saw three figures in shades of red emerge, the plain red one practically kicking the orange one out of the back of the ship. They milled around in front of the base for a while like unimpressed children on a field trip before the plain red one led the investigation in.

The reds had arrived.

His new private would be here tomorrow then.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Having absconded from Project Freelancer with Florida’s ragtag band of ducklings – Or had they graduated to ducks now? – Reginald found himself forced into staying with them a while longer to avoid detection.

Because, as the nine bodies he had put bullets in over the past three weeks could testify, if they could speak from beyond the grave that is, Project Freelancer didn’t want to let them go easily.

“Anything?” 479er asked as he sat down to eat his breakfast and share her rock. At least there was one other sensible, non-waterfowl-identifying person with him.

Wyoming shook his head, staring into the metal tin of beans and bread. Honestly, you couldn’t trust Americans to make beans on toast without overcooking the first and undercooking the second. “Gamma found more transmissions that the Project’s onto us again. We need to pack up and be out of here by about midday, I’d say.” But still no word on what they were really searching for.

“Well, fuck,” the pilot dryly laughed. “And I’d just got my rocks arranged the way I like them.” Not that they wouldn’t both be glad to see the back of this dry-baked hellhole they were currently hiding out in. It was nothing more than an abandoned research lab built into the side of a desert wall and all the sand in their boots was making the children cranky and restless by the sounds of the yelping and kicking coming from the main group.

“Your rocks, eh?” Wyoming shot her a sly, sideways gaze. Bit of a smirk too. “Tight underwear problem?”

She smirked too, “Fuck off,” and kicked him lightly. Wyoming tolerated his leg being jostled like a good sport. “Got a new location for us?”

The Agent nodded, continuing to pick at his food in the same defeated way as always. It somehow made things easier when it wasn’t cooked well. “Another planet hop, I’m afraid. Can’t be avoided, my dear; we’ll be slumming it again.”

“City?”

“Some grey monstrosity purporting to be one...”

479er snorted. “What? No Big Ben or Piccadilly Circus?”

“I’m hardly going to take _that lot,”_ he gestured disparagingly, “back to London of all places. They’d end up falling in the Thames before you could say ‘Immigration Control’...”

They shared a bitter laugh. And a silent moment.

“...We’re never going home, are we?”

“Looks highly unlikely at this juncture, my dear.”

“Shit...” she sighed and hunched forward, arms resting on her knees. “I’ve got three younger sisters waiting for my paycheck at home and now I’ve probably starved the lot. Why did I leave...?”

“Why did any of us?” he asked, still eating slowly. “Your starter for ten; no conferring.”

479er gave him a confused look, then shook her head. “Easy. Because they got rid of the one guy holding everything together.” Wyoming ground to a halt, and he hadn’t been moving fast before. She reached out a hand towards him. “All right. Now give me ten whatever-you-were-promising.”

Rolling his eyes at the cultural difference, he just left his meal tin in her hands; there was probably about ten beans left in it.

Agent Wyoming had to go rally and command the troops. He definitely didn’t like leading, or being around people that reminded him so much of what he had lost, but he had proved himself as the only thing keeping them alive these past three weeks and he wasn’t letting Butch’s adopted family down just yet. Gamma’s constant scanning of the universal internet was keeping them all a step ahead and frankly Reginald was just following what his AI told him to do these days. Gamma could have been leading them all into a trap and he wouldn’t have known until the cage snapped shut.

Pelican-525 set out again in a few hours, still with too many passengers for its small hold. It hadn’t been safe for any of the 15 to leave the group yet.

By what would have been nightfall in the desert, they were in a new city, hiding out in a deserted school on the outskirts. Reginald left the lot of them in the gym, playing some form of improvised kickball, to trudge through deserted corridors and up. He liked to go up these days, to be nearer the stars at night. Sitting and watching them through a broken window in an old Physics laboratory, he wondered which one of them warmed the planet Butch was on now, which one he should thank for keeping Butch alive. Or maybe it was night where Butch was now too. Maybe they were looking at the same stars together.

His helmet was off and resting on a lab bench beside him. Reginald reached up to the zip at the neck of his body suit, pulling it down just a little and fishing the metal bead chain out.

Staring at Butch’s smile in that little picture helped a bit. Even if it was a weak smile, and a slightly sad smile, it was still one of Butch’s smiles.

He had given Butch the chance to let all his pain out together, everything he had been keeping inside for so many years. As his glove tightened around the metal tag, and he felt like crying again, Reginald knew he could only let his pain out once Butch was gone. He couldn’t have given Butch that chance otherwise.

_“Reggie. I believe that this place will be safe to stay in for at least two days. There is little Covenant splinter group activity here so the UNSC does not pay it much attention.”_

“Oh. Jolly good...” Gamma rarely manifested these days.

_“Is there anything you would particularly like me to search for tonight?”_

“No. Just the usual... person...”

 _“Okay. Place me by the internet port over there.”_ Gamma guided him in his mind, and Reginald dutifully took his external AI unit over to the right corner, leaving him there for the night. _“...I hope you sleep well tonight, Reggie.”_

“Ah. Yes.” The AI knew how little he had been getting of course. “So do I, mate...” The cold draining sensation of Gamma completely leaving his mind barely bothered him these days. Reginald just walked it off around the room, looking for the most comfortable piece of floor. Not that he really noticed that these days either, lying down on the cleanest part instead in full armour.

He didn’t really notice much at all.

~

They were able to stay in the deserted school much longer than two days in the end. A week later Wyoming stood up after dinner and announced, “Afraid I’m going to be saying my goodbyes tomorrow morning. I’m moving out alone.” He averted his gaze, ignoring whatever expression their faces might be.

“What?” Daya, their doctor, asked. “What if we get attacked again?” They still had two people recovering from bullet wounds and another with a broken foot.

“Gamma says our trail’s finally gone cold. They seem to have given up. And we shan’t be moving far; just half a mile down the outskirts,” he said. “I’m not abandoning you pups just yet, but you need to fly the nest sometime, eh?”

“But what about finding Agent Florida?” one of his fanboys piped up, the other adding a “Yeah,” and giving him a sharp nod.

Well, at least they liked him enough to be agitated at the thought of him leaving. Or maybe it was just about protection; it wasn’t as if he was offering them much moral support. He was being a terrible stand-in...

Wyoming looked at the two who had asked him, cuddled up together with an arm around each other, and briefly at the other couple amongst the kitchen staff and shook his head. “Gamma and I will still be looking. And we’ll be in contact, should any of us find him.”

Before any more objections could be made, Ricky, who was being a much better new-Butch than him, stood and spoke for the rest as leader. “It’s been great travelling with you this far, Agent Wyoming. Thank you, and to Gamma as well.” He put a fist to his heart in salute.

Wyoming didn’t say any more. He just left with a feeble wave. 479er nodded to him on his way past. A few shouted, “Thank you!” after him, but the words didn’t really touch him.

He couldn’t stay with Butch’s effective family. Not when every last one of them forever reminded him of how much Butch touched someone’s life once they met him. He couldn’t stand the couples, and he definitely didn’t need to know his two fanboys discussed how much they’d like to have sex with him as pillow talk after having sex themselves. Or that they’d become a couple due to their mutual adulation of him. And not forgetting the thinly veiled proposition of a threesome he’d shot down. Literally. By pointing his sniper rifle at their faces.

Although he had to admit that he’d miss seeing the conclusion of Cole and Skids and their love/hate relationship – It was becoming quite the enjoyable little soap opera drama actually – he needed some space right now.

That was why, after checking Gamma had their contact details in case they found Butch first, Reginald left his in a farewell note and took his leave from the group at midnight.

~

Reginald had to admit Gamma had fine taste in housing for a being who spent his life living inside either a small grey box or the bone in the back of someone’s neck. His AI had found him a very nice little house somewhere really out of the way, perfect for a bounty hunter who wanted to hide out in luxury. It had all been paid for in forged documents, of course, and now he illegally owned the place out right.

Moving two bags’ worth of items in hadn’t taken long at all, even if he had taken a long time lingering over all of Butch’s possessions as he found a home for them. Getting it furnished to his tastes had taken a few more days though, but it was done within five.

Then came setting up their new bounty hunting service and waiting for their first client.

Gamma spent his days half out of Reginald’s mind most of the time, trawling through the internet looking for clients, places to advertise, news on Butch or Project Freelancer. He didn’t want to clutter his host’s mind with all of the computer code and it was fine with the human.

Reginald spent his empty days doing the editing for his first story to be published. It was something to do, something that needed to be done, and throwing himself into it really helped the pain. He worked well as a freelancer – Not that sort of Freelancer – whether that be a writer or a bounty hunter now. Working to his own schedule suited him. It wasn’t that he was a free spirit like Butch, just that he was too arrogant and lazy a sod to like following orders. He was very pleased to get back into his old, rich and lazy lifestyle here with Gamma.

But today Reginald couldn’t even bring himself to do that.

Today was their anniversary, and he couldn’t even be certain Butch was still alive.

Gamma was staying out of his host’s mind for a different reason today. Being in there was too painful right now. His missed Butch too and neither of them needed to amplify those feelings by combining them in the same mind.

So Reginald was moping. He had become quite an expert at moping over these past six weeks.

The dog tag with Butch’s picture on the back wouldn’t leave his hand for hours.

He spent far too long just looking at photos.

He had hugged Butch’s T-shirt to his face for so many nights now the scent was all pushed out by his own.

But Gamma couldn’t blame him today. He couldn’t blame Reginald most days when he could feel Reginald’s feelings for himself, even if he hated all of this.

He had once asked Reginald if he ever thought that he loved Butch too much. Reginald had just laughed at the joke, even though both of them knew it wasn’t one. The jokes, the support, the sex... There was too much that he missed.

Even though Reginald had been masturbating and fingering himself these past few weeks, holding a picture of Butch while he did so, it just wasn’t enough tonight. How could it be anywhere near enough tonight?

The pain in his heart would kill him tonight.

Sighing deeply, he sat back on the bed – Double bed, because Butch was going to need a side one day – and tried to ignore the ache in his body. It wasn’t aching for sex, even if that was what he was feeding it. It was aching for warmth, for another body beside him when he slept and someone there whenever he opened his eyes in the dark.

“...Gamma...” he croaked out, barely above a whisper.

The AI heard, manifesting for once on his bedside table. Normally he liked to give Reginald privacy during these times and move nearly all his processes into his external unit. But he never severed the link completely though. “Yes, Reggie?”

“...Do it...” He curled up where he sat, head bowed onto his knees. “Do the Butch-thing...”

Gamma knew what he meant. He just couldn’t believe Reggie meant it.

Reginald waited in darkness, staring down through heavy, half-lidded eyes into his own lap. He hadn’t even taken his trousers off yet tonight because he couldn’t will himself to try it and know it would fail. It wasn’t Butch. Nothing could replace Butch.

“Well shucks, Reggie. Did you really miss little, old me that much?”

Taking one long breath, Reginald dared to lift his head.

Butch was sat on the bed before him wearing the clothes of their final day, knees tucked up towards his chest in a similar posture. But Butch was beaming brightly, lovingly. His indigo eyes were sparkling with all the funny gems he was about to say from those thin, perfect lips that were smiling and raising those smooth, caramel-brown cheeks.

Reginald uncurled and reached out until Butch was in his arms, so warm and slender and the perfect fit. He buried his face in Butch’s neck, not caring that his moustache was tickling the bronze skin when it tasted like cinnamon and soft fruits. And Butch laughed joyfully at the sensation too, right by his ear. The dirty-blonde hair was silky in his fingers as it slipped undone and smelt like vanilla when he pressed it to his nose; freshly washed. And Butch’s lips, whole mouth, tasted of his minty aloe vera toothpaste straight after brushing.

Pulling back, he just stared endlessly into those perfect, dark blue eyes, watching the flecks of purple as Butch responded with a curious but cheerful look.

“Butch...”

He held Butch in his arms and kissed him again and again, tightening his grip each time.

“It’s really you, Butch...” Reginald murmured lovingly to the hallucination. “You’re back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... things are going to be getting a little mentally unhealthy on Wyoming's side for a while. If the ending part to this chapter bothers you then you might want to be cautious for his parts. I'm always willing to tag specific stuff for readers if you want me to; just leave it in a comment.
> 
> More stuff to do with this story can be found in the archives of my Tumblr at: http://milsmill.tumblr.com/
> 
> Anywho, next time, Butch meets his new private and Reginald meets an old friend who wouldn't mind killing him.


	2. Old Face, New Face, Red Face, Blue Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Reginald and Gamma have a relationship tag now because of the hologram-Butch thing and also because the relationship between those two is a focus of this story. Just to clarify why that tag is there.

Butch put one hand out to steady himself on the shower wall as he lifted each leg, making sure to wash between each of his toes. He was careful to keep his head out of the spray too while his conditioner was still soaking in. It wasn’t quite done yet so while he waited, he cupped his hands into a bowl-shape and tried to hold as much water in them as possible. Some would always run through or overflow, but he could keep quite a bit in them for a while.

Watching the small pool constantly bubbling and shaken by the falling droplets was soothing. He only realised how much so five minutes later when he came back from zoning out, dropping all of the water with a loud smack on the tiles as he stuck his head under instead.

The bathrooms here were communal with four showerheads and so far it had been very nice having such a large bathroom to treat completely as his own. That was going to change today but Butch enjoyed his last shower alone and took his time getting out, putting his hair up in one towel and passing the other over his body. Once the rest of his morning ablutions were done, he towelled his thin hair until it was practically dry and threw his civvies back on, strolling out of the bathroom whilst beginning to braid his hair.

Butch was startled by the voice but only because of how slow it meant he had been. “Well hey there, hot stuff. Don’t bother putting your hair up; just let it all down with the rest of your clothes.”

Over the years of his life, Butch had seen quite a few salacious grins just like that one. He knew what it meant. But he just didn’t have the energy anymore. “Well. Aren’t you a forward young man?” No excitement, no spark. Butch’s chuckle sounded slow and odd even to his ears. “Captain Butch Flowers.” He offered a hand, despite being across the room from the other man. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Private Lavernius Tucker.”

Tucker’s features widened and he nearly dropped the helmet cradled in his hands. “Oh man, you’re a dude?! I can’t believe- Oh God!” His private stood up a little straighter, fumbling to salute. “I’m so sorry, Sir! I didn’t mean to- I’ve just been kind of missing girls and-”

“Easy there, soldier.” Butch couldn’t do this. Again, everything inside him was screaming to run and hide. No more people. No more acting and pretending to be happy. It was too hard now what he had to do. “And I don’t care about formalities here. Just call me...” No. Not Butch. No one was calling him that again now. “...Cappy. Okay?”

“Uhh...” Tucker hesitated. “Sure... Cappy...”

“That’s good.” No, it wasn’t. He didn’t want to be here dealing with a new private at all. But Butch wasn’t going to let anyone down, particularly himself. This Tucker wasn’t going to see a single moment of weakness or sadness from him no matter what it took. He wasn’t letting anyone else in. So he winked and grinned back. “And thank you for finding me attractive.”

“I don’t **now**!” Tucker hotly insisted, backing off a step. “I mean...” He looked his CO up and down, “are you sure you’re a dude all the way through? Because you seriously look like a 18-year-old girl or something right now.”

Captain Flowers chuckled, finishing the braid in his hair since he knew that helped. “You’re delightfully honest, Private Tucker; I like that. And don’t you worry, you’re quite right, in a way; I’m a demi-guy, two-thirds male, one-third female,” he explained with pleasure.

“Look, don’t get all complicated on me,” Tucker said, holding up his hands. “I’ll just assume you’ve got a dick in those pants and therefore I’m not interested.”

Butch let his gender euphoria crumble silently before saying, “Well, I can drop my shorts and show you if you-”

“NO. Just no.” His private backed off, appalled. Tucker pretended to look for somewhere to put his things down instead in this kitchen. Eventually, after placing them on one of the seats, he dared to speak up again. Cappy had been fiddling with his bangs in the meantime. “...How old are you, Sir- Uh, Cappy? You look younger than me frankly, and a lot of people say I have baby-face.”

“I’m 24, Private Tucker. Two years older.” The files had told him everything about the young man standing before him.

Tucker stared. “...And you’re a captain? How the hell?! Were you one of the guys with Master Chief that took down the Covenant or something?”

Captain Flowers shook his head, smiling fondly at Tucker. He was so trained in it that his cheeks never hurt no matter how long he held up a smile. “No sirree. Just a normal, old soldier.” Tucker definitely narrowed his eyes at that. “But how about you gather up your things and I’ll show you to your room now? You must be all _tuckered_ out after your trip!” Butch did grin honestly at that; Reggie would have loved it.

Tucker just rolled his eyes and frowned. “Yeah, like I never heard that one before...” he scorned.

Butch’s grin faltered quickly. He stared down at the floor, then picked his face up with a hard smile again. “It’s just this way.” He left, ducking out into one of the corridors to lead the way.

“All right!” Tucker called after him. And then he muttered. “What a freak...”

Butch stared down at the floor, pressing his eyes tightly shut. Nothing could wish him back to Project Freelancer though.

Cappy smiled when Tucker joined him out in the corridor leading to their rooms. The private had a couple of bags and was looking around the grey, plain walls apathetically, seeming like he really didn’t want to be here. “There are still three rooms free; pick whichever you like, Private.” Captain Flowers gestured to them, and then to the one a bit separate from the rest towards the back of the base. “And that room there is mine, in case you ever need to come into it.”

Tucker’s face curled a little with disgust. “Um... yeah... Don’t think I’m going to need to...”

“That’s all right. It’s just in case you need me at any time.” The more he insisted, the less likely Tucker was to take him up on it. “Now back there was the kitchen and the-”

“Uh, Captain?” Tucker interrupted, looking around the rooms he was to choose between. “Are we the only two soldiers here?”

“That’s right; just you and me.” Butch actually felt how Tucker looked about that, but he kept up a smile. “Well, and those reds across the canyon.”

“Are there only two of them?”

“No, there are three of them,” he admitted lightly, seeing how ridiculous the situation must appear if you didn’t know what he did. “We are meant to have another private in our happy, little blue family here in Blood Gulch but I’m afraid he’s been a bit delayed. A nasty old case of space flu struck him down just before deployment.”

“Oh man. Sucks for him.” Tucker began to brighten considerably at the prospect though. “I had that once when I was 10; I was sneezing black holes for a week.” Captain Flowers chuckled at the image, wondering if Tucker had been a cute kid. “So... how long have you been here alone then?”

“Only since yesterday, Private,” he lied. He was already telling so many lies to the boy; Butch wondered how many more there would have to be. “Now, how about you pick yourself a room, put your things in it, and meet me back here in five minutes for orientation once I’ve got my armour on?”

“Yes, Sir- Uh, yes, Cappy.” Tucker started sticking his head into the rooms whilst Butch slipped into his, resting his back against the door once it was shut behind him.

Oh, Tucker seemed nice enough. As Butch stared up at the ceiling he couldn’t deny that. Tucker was a normal person, not his type of person, but he had always been able to get along well enough with normal people. Reminded him a little of York, actually. What was that handsome devil of a locksmith up to these days? Still pretending to be much more handsome and skilled at picking locks than he actually was?

Shaking his head, Butch pulled off his clothes and slipped into his black bodysuit. Tucker wasn’t going to be any problem emotionally. He could do this, even if he didn’t want to.

With his armour plates clipped on, he took up his helmet and reached for his slightly open zip. Butch gripped his dog tags for a moment, taking one deep breath that actually ached in his chest, before zipping them away and meeting Tucker back in full armour.

“That’s my room,” the private pointed it out, then once again looked over his captain’s body. “Man, how’d you get such a sweet colour for your armour while I’m stuck with this plain old blue? Captain privilege?”

Captain Flowers began to give him a tour of the base, all the features and rooms, whilst they continued getting to know one another. “Perhaps so. But I like to think it also makes us a little easier to tell apart.”

“For who? There’s only me and you here!” Tucker objected. “If I’m me then the only person you can be is you!”

“Hm. That’s a fair point actually.” He’d just made something up. Butch hadn’t been able to work out why he got this armour colour, unless it was maybe Carolina’s spare, and would have much preferred a darker blue. “But you’ll see those reds have a snazzy little array of colours too, and I guess Blue Command wanted to keep up with the Joneses.”

“What? Like red, dark red and light red?” Tucker snarked from behind.

“Tucker.” Cappy stopped, turning around and placing his hands on his hips. “If I didn’t know better, someone might think you don’t want to be here.”

“Well, how _do_ you know better? Because I _don’t_ want to be here.” The private huffed and turned away. “This fucking sucks... I signed up to travel to interesting places, become a cool-ass hero and do something with my life. And instead I’m stuck here in some lousy box canyon, not even fighting aliens, and- Are there any girls on Red Team?” he stopped ranting to ask.

“Ah, no. Afraid not.”

“And it’s a massive sausage-fest too! This blows...” Tucker kicked a nearby crate then sat down on it, facing the wall rather than his captain.

Captain Flowers sighed, placing his gloved palm over his visor because this was unfair on Tucker, even more so than him. However questionable his ultimate motives, Tucker had signed up to fight for a good cause, to do something brave and protect humanity. And instead he’d been lied to and drafted into this, Project Freelancer’s problem. At least Butch had a reason to be involved in this.

“...Why are we fighting this ‘Red Team’ anyway?” Tucker spoke up again. “Who are they? Some sort of Covenant-supporting group?”

“No, not quite,” Captain Flowers responded slowly, not wanting to lie anymore than his mission demanded. “But they’re the enemy; I can assure you of that, soldier. And that’s all you need to know.” Even in playground soccer, you could still call the other team ‘the enemy’ after all.

“Whatever...” Tucker yawned, taking the pistol off his thigh to play with. “Do we have to do much round here? Like, do we have any orders?”

“Protect the flag, and the base,” the Captain counted off. “Oh, and try to beat those reds across the way.”

“You mean get their flag?”

“That’s exactly right, Private.” Cappy perched on a box near Tucker, patting the younger man’s shoulder.

“And the flags are for...?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified.” Fooling you into thinking we have a purpose here.

Tucker shrugged. “Fine. Whatever. Sounds easier than fighting aliens I guess. Hey, do you know if we get good internet here, Captain?”

“Ah, no. That’s another ‘afraid not’ for you, I’m afraid.”

“Aw man. Now this really bites...”

To stop Tucker sulking like a teenager on the boxes, Captain Flowers took him outside to show him the wonders- All right, that was pushing it even for Butch. To show him the canyon they called Blood Gulch.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Waking up these days was warm and slow. The sensation in his arms felt pleasant even before Reginald registered it as a living, gently breathing body. The sheets around them were softened by the warmth of a night’s sleep but still cool in comparison to the heat of the naked body wrapped around his. Butch had always had a high skin temperature – He claimed to have one of those elusive high metabolisms that functioned best on lots of sugar – and this Butch was no different.

Reginald’s natural response was always to hold it tighter when he slipped out of dreams into the waking world, almost as if he knew the truth of reality despite what the presence in his bed would suggest. Its response was always to pretend to wake at that and squeeze him back, drawing Reginald further out of sleep. He would open his eyes and see that dirty-blonde hair, or sometimes a pair of indigo eyes staring back at him full of peaceful joy and Reginald would will himself not to remember for just a few minutes more.

He had taken to calling it the holo-Butch, because for some reason Gamma insisted on projecting a hologram along with the hallucination he used to create all of the other senses for it. A pure hallucination would have done just fine, but he bowed to whatever the AI said was best as long as he got this.

“Hello,” Reginald murmured to it, though it was more of a rumble out of his sleep-dulled throat.

It laughed softly as he began to nibble and then suck on its ear. “Mm, oh, Reggie. Always with my ear,” it teased.

“Hmm...” He couldn’t help it; it always made Butch laugh. “Prefer me to go lower, would you?” His knee slipped between slimmer legs, slowly rubbing his bare thigh up against everything between them.

With a bit of a whimper, or a huff, Butch couldn’t resist bucking its hips to meet the stimulating friction. “Well...” it said a little breathlessly, “I wouldn’t like to let such a nice offer go to waste.”

Humming in agreement, Reginald indulged in one final, slow kiss before his head dipped, slipping beneath the covers and leaving kisses on hot skin all the way down Butch’s neck, then chest, then hips and then lower.

Five satisfying minutes later, he followed the same trail back up, with a couple of deviations to suck on dusky pink nipples. This time his lips and moustache were brushing sensitively aroused skin though and Butch groaned all the way back up. It then grabbed the back of his head, slender fingers tugging at the roots of his black hair as Butch pulled him in for a fierce kiss.

“Oh shucks. I think I got a little carried away there,” Butch said, pulling back from Reginald’s lips which now felt bruised. It had that dark, languorous look in its eyes that Butch had always had when well-pleasured. “But the things that mouth of yours encourages me to do, Reggie...” It traced a thumbpad over Reginald’s lips. They felt plump and swollen, as they would have been after the things he had done, while in reality they hadn’t changed.

“No matter, love.” Reginald bit the end of the thumb lightly, flicking his tongue against the tip. He could go on like this all morning, but he closed his eyes and dragged that willpower up inside him which was getting harder every morning. “But I think you’d better go now.” He pulled away.

“Sure. You need to go and get started on that day of yours, after all,” Butch smiled at him. “Can’t spend it all in bed with me.”

It stayed for one final kiss, then all the sensations dissolved back into reality, nothing, and Reginald was sat in bed alone. He reached out, running his hand over the pillow Butch had been lying back against.

It was nice to have someone to wake up to though.

Nearly two weeks had passed since their anniversary now. Reginald wrote to keep busy during all the free time. Now he also had his first job as a bounty hunter thanks to Gamma’s help advertising and managing his arrangements online; some sort of mob-boss, a city rivalry with another gang he got paid for picking members off. It wasn’t the city he lived near but Gamma had set up a teleporter downstairs in the utility room too, right next to the washing machine; he’d already lost three socks and a pair of boxers thanks to that arrangement but he couldn’t fault Gamma for being very useful.

But Gamma was still confusing in many ways, even after 6 months or so in a head together.

“Why do you always insist I bring your unit into the bathroom with me?” Reginald asked, eyeing the grey box on the side his AI had nagged him yet again to bring in here. At least Gamma had gone back to manifesting a normal amount nowadays. “Don’t blame me if it gets wet.”

“There are calculations and processes that I can run whilst you attend to cleaning your biological body,” Gamma replied, with a little bit of mental superiority. “There is no point in wasting the time.”

“Well, why do you always sit on the sink while you do it?”

Gamma shrugged where he was sitting very casually, slouched with his back against the tiles by the cold tap. He watched his host towelling off after stepping out of the shower impassively, running more important procedures under encryption in the back of his mind. “My presence no longer bothers you during biological functions, Reggie. For instance, there is no longer any delay at all when you urinate in my presence, unlike when we first met.”

“Yes, well...” Reginald tried not to blush too hard. He _was_ used to Gamma all the time now, but still. And he noticed his question hadn’t exactly been answered either. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you just like seeing me naked.” Finished with drying his body, he put the towel back onto the rack and let Gamma get an eyeful as he walked over to the sink.

The AI looked but didn’t give any real response. “You are implying I am sexually attracted to you, Reggie?” His gaze lifted to his host’s face.

_“I don’t know, mate,”_ Reginald replied mentally, cleaning his face. _“I suppose you’re based on a human mind, but I’d imagine you’d be more interested in your own kind for that sort of thing.”_

“I do not have any reproductive sub-routines.”

Casting an eye over Gamma’s small, blue body, Reginald lingered thoughtfully over the bottom of Gamma’s jacket, because it definitely seemed like he had clothes, and the crotch just below it. “Nothing at all down there?”

Gamma shifted his legs jerkily, swapping which one was folded over the other at the knee to block his lap from the human’s sight. “I do not pick how this form appears. Like humans, we do not get a say over our basic appearance.”

“Hmm.” Reginald just hummed, not in a mood to really think through that fact. He had very important moustache to trim. _“Anyway, if you do by chance do it with another AI, don’t forget to use anti-virus, eh? Wouldn’t want to catch some nasty virus, or end up with a litter of computer chips.”_ He smirked at his own humour whilst deftly wielding his razor.

Gamma felt amused too, but replied, “You appear to be confusing me with a computer, and all other AIs like me that I know are my siblings.”

_“Not attracted to them?”_

“Do you want me to bring up the thoughts you have had comparing Butch to your father?”

Reginald glanced away and dropped the subject.

~

He had been working for his current mob-boss employer for about a couple of weeks now. Tonight ‘Claws’ had invited him out to a bar in the city of his employment to discuss further work. Normally they would just send a message which Gamma would pick up if there were particular targets they wanted but tonight must be for something big then.

It was an upscale establishment, modern and sleek. Plenty of dark glass and chrome metal but with a subdued lighting that kept the place tasteful. The music was low and mid-tempo, easier to ignore if it wasn’t to your tastes, which it wasn’t to Reginald’s. He had never cared for social venues or drinking, not beyond a couple of bottles of cider during lazy summer afternoons with his family back in England. There weren’t that many people in tonight, but enough that it didn’t look like there was something wrong or undesirable about being here. Not looking out-of-place was easy enough with a buttoned shirt and waistcoat, although he paused just inside the door to roll up his sleeves so he wouldn’t get confused for one of the waiters- Damn it. What sort of bar dressed their staff in black and blue rather than a more professional white?

But striding in purposefully after that wasn’t a challenge. Surveying the room looking for Claws made him slightly uneasy and when he didn’t see them, Reginald sidled over to the bar and ordered a cranberry juice. Alcohol had been for the cool kids at secondary school; he’d never gotten into the habit. At least Butch shared in his abstinence, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what happened to an AI when their host drank.

The bartender brought back his drink, giving him a slight look for paying on-the-spot and ordering a non-alcoholic beverage. Reginald gave him a stronger look back and the man dropped it, idling down towards the other end of the bar where a customer wanted to put in another order.

Following the bartender with his gaze, Reginald couldn’t believe what he spotted sitting half the way down the bar from him.

“Well, well. If it isn’t our dear Agent Texas.” He slipped onto the seat next to the blonde woman drinking some sort of amber liquid. Her hair had been cut short but she was still easy to recognise.

Tex put her glass back to her lips to spit her mouthful back out into it. “Fuck me; Wyoming?!” She staring at him incredulously. “Shit. What are you doing here?” She sipped at her drink again like it wasn’t still slightly bubbly from her spit.

“Unlike some people, I’m over 18 and allowed to be in establishments that serve alcohol.” He lowered his voice a little, not that anyone could look at Tex’s body and think she was a minor.

“Then why are you drinking cranberry juice, pussy?”

“I don’t drink,” he muttered in his juice.

“Really? You seem like the type to.” Tex shrugged, not her business either way. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Ah. Just meeting a business associate of mine.”

She finished her mouthful, and then she had a thought which made her stare at him for a long moment.

He tolerated it, though raised an eyebrow, and sipped his own drink. Ugh, so dry; should have ordered orange.

“...Fuck,” Tex eventually decided, now frowning down at the glass in front of her.

“Not sure I know this game, my dear,” Reginald said, more than a little confused. “You’ll have to tell me the rules.”

“You’re my hit,” she murmured in a low tone suitable for another assassin.

“Yes, Gamma did assess there was a 60-something percent chance this was a set-up.” He subtly tugged up the back of his waistcoat on her side, letting her see the slim pistol tucked in the back.

Tex waved a dismissive hand at him, returning to her drink. “Pascatia hired me.”

“Ah.” The rival gang. “Still, even if I’m armed with a weapon I’ve no doubt you could disarm me of in seconds, I can’t help noticing I’m not currently dead; a bit of mercy for old time’s sake?”

“Eh, more like ‘fuck’ because I was hoping for someone who liked girls so I could lure them out into the back alley and do it there,” Tex replied casually.

Reginald looked over her outfit. “Explains the dress. What there is of it.” She wore the short, black dress as gracefully as she could with her muscles. It looked classy, but a little awkward next to her biceps.

“Fuck off. You’re just jealous because I’ve got assets to pull with.” She grinned at him.

“Excuse me, but what do you call this?” Reginald pointed to his majestically fine moustache.

“Disaster waiting to- No wait. The disaster’s already happened.” Tex actually laughed, and he gave her a playful knock. But he was smiling.

“...I’m not entirely uninterested in the fairer sex,” he admitted after a minute, swirling his deep red drink. “Homoflexible, actually. I’d have to be, considering Butch.” Labels didn’t matter to Reginald, but Butch seemed to love them. And after the small earful Butch had given him for assuming Butch was cis for the whole first year they were together, they weren’t something Reginald made a mistake with now.

Tex nodded in understanding. “Talking of, where is Barbie? I’ve got a fight to settle with him.”

Reginald explained what had happened, in return for her explaining about the fight Butch had never mentioned.

“Huh.” She paused, her glass tilted at an angle towards her on the bar. Tex stared into it thoughtfully at the melting ice cubes. “That... That really sucks. Sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll find him again,” he said nonchalantly.

“I told him to hold onto you...” Tex muttered, lifting the glass to her lips. “Even people who do really shitty things deserve to have someone there for them...” She closed her eyes and drunk to someone she didn’t like to remember.

“To Butch?” Reginald offered instead, tilting his glass towards hers.

“To that fucking...” Tex shook her head and laughed. “To Butch Flowers.” Their glasses clinked.

“Who defies all description,” he humorously observed, taking a drink with her.

Tex needed a refill by now, and after the bartender had left them be again Reginald returned to an important subject. “So, my dear; this hit on me? Going to go through with it?”

She cast him a short, sideways glare. “After what you did at the Project I’d kill you even if I wasn’t getting 25,000 for it.”

He laughed at her. Perhaps not the smartest move at an assassin with his name on their wanted list. “My! If I’d known you come that cheap I might have hired you during the Project to do my missions for me.”

This time Tex eyed him curiously. “Why? What do you get paid, Mario?”

“Well, _Allison_ -”

“It’s _Tex_.”

He gave her a withering look. “Yes, how about I call you by what you want once you stop calling me by what I don’t, hm?”

“Fine. I’ll compromise: What do you get paid, _Wario_?”

“Oh wonderful; I’ve been upgraded to the bloody villain...” Perhaps he should have seen that coming. “I get paid 15,000 for a simple lackey. At least double that for someone important. I can make 80,000 a corpse once we’re in middle-management.”

“Fuck. Picked the wrong damn side again...”

Reginald took a drink smugly. But well, for Butch’s sake... “Does Pascatia trust you?”

“I’ve done a few hits for him, yeah,” Tex answered cautiously.

“Well, if I was to eliminate the boss himself of that sordid operation, I ought to easily be looking at 250,000. 125,000 should be enough to cover a little life insurance from my... partner?” Reginald offered.

Tex had to weigh that one up; it was getting even for nearly 3 months of lies and deception versus 100,000 credits. “Deal.”

He chuckled. “You certainly agreed that one quickly, my dear.”

She shrugged. “Money’s money, and I can kill you any time I want,” Tex said with pleasure. Reginald shifted on his seat slightly. “This way it’s even easier to keep track of you too. Just one thing; can I trust your onboard passenger?” She could trust him because she could kill him. An AI though...

“What about yours?”

“Omega doesn’t care who so long as he gets to kill someone. He’ll probably get to kill more this way so he’s happy. But Gamma?”

Gamma manifested in Reginald’s lap, shadowed by the bar. He turned his brightness and volume right down too. “I only did that in order to make Reginald happy. He was only doing that to make Butch happy.”

“Wow,” Tex was left staring at Reginald’s crotch when the AI quickly faded. “I never realised you were so _whipped,_ ” she took a great delight in teasing.

“Whipped?” He shifted his posture when her eyes took a little long to come back up. “No, never whipped, my dear. Didn’t have the equipment. Had to settle for simply being spanked by Butch instead.”

She rolled her eyes, and her whole head, away from him. “I really didn’t need to hear that.”

“Well, what would you like to hear?”

“The plans for this. Come on.” Tex downed the rest of her drink in one, gasping slightly as it ignited her throat. These synthetic taste buds really were good. “Back to my place. And pay for my drinks for me.” She was already halfway to the door.

“My, my. Such a charming woman...” Reginald muttered, pulling out his wallet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case anyone was interested/confused: Reginald is a homoflexible, cis-male.  
> Butch is a demisexual, demi-guy, therefore genderqueer trans. Never had the chance to mention that about them until now. Both Tex and 479er are trans too, actually, and a few OCs. I have lots of headcanons I can't get in anywhere.
> 
> Next time, Tucker and Cappy get their first look at the reds while Reginald and Tex start their new partnership.


	3. Half-Life

“So, over there’s one ledge,” Captain Flowers pointed out, “and there’s another overlooking Red Base as well – I can show you that later when we get closer – and there are also some caves over-”

“What about that rock?” Tucker interrupted the thrilling guided tour to point at one near Blue Base that was of no particular interest.

“Uh... Yes?”

“Is that rock used for anything?”

Captain Flowers paused, quite confused really. “...No, it’s not,” he admitted.

“Dibs.”

“Dibs?” Cappy repeated, even more confused.

“International dibs protocol; that’s my rock now,” Tucker claimed, then let him go on with the tour.

“All... right.” Butch honestly didn’t know how to respond to that in any possible way. Who wanted a rock, and what for? But, if it made his private happy. “And over there are the caves.” He pointed out.

“What’s in the caves?”

“Well, some tunnels, a few lights. A lot of darkness between the lights.” The darkness was one of his favourite parts down there.

“Eh, darkness isn’t really my thing. I don’t need it, unlike some guys,” Tucker said as they walked out a bit further into the canyon to orient him. “Give me a nice sunny beach, plenty of hot chicks in bikinis...”

“With a handsome face like yours, I can certainly see why light and good visibility are your friend, Private Tucker,” Cappy complimented as they went.

Tucker hung back a couple of steps slowly, drifting a little away from his captain. “Uh... Yeah...”

The captain tutted to himself. He was only trying to pay an honest compliment and Tucker took it as a come-on; Butch wouldn’t have been surprised at all if Tucker was exceedingly unpopular with the ladies he seemed so intent on picking up if compliments were only for the purpose of getting into someone’s pants in his world. After all, Tucker wouldn’t have been trying so hard to prove he was a successful ladies-man if that was actually the truth. Like his own efforts to seem like such a team-player, Butch was of the opinion one only needed to make such efforts in how you appeared if it wasn’t true enough to come across naturally.

They walked in near-silence, Tucker only giving short, polite replies for the sake of respect, until they reached the ledge over-looking Red Base. No one was out and about at the moment but it wasn’t as if they had much else to do.

After sitting and watching for a while, Tucker finally spoke up once more. “Hey, Sir- Captain. Can I have a turn with that sniper rifle?” He had indicated to the one the captain was carrying on his back.

Captain Flowers wasn’t using it though and he had sworn himself not to; he wasn’t the one that fired a sniper rifle after all. It just wasn’t right for him to. “Uh, I’m afraid I’m going to have to deny that request, Private Tucker. This particular rifle doesn’t work, you see.”

“Well, can I just use it for the sights?”

“It’s the sights that don’t work.”

“Then why are you carrying it?”

Fair question. What answer to give? “It’s not good to look unarmed, soldier. If any Red sees me with this on my back, you can bet your bottom dollar they’re going to think twice about pulling that trigger.”

Tucker shrugged and accepted that. That seemed to be his response to a lot of things, thankfully.

“Oh look! There are the little rascals now!” Captain Flowers pointed out with a cheerful laugh.

Three reds came trotting out of their base, the red one first, the maroon too keenly behind him and the orange lazily trailing in the rear. Even from this distance one could hear the shouting, moaning and ass-kissing.

“That’s them?” Tucker asked.

“That’s them, all right,” Captain Flowers responded. “Red Team.”

~

“Front and centre, ladies!” Sarge called, stopping on the dirt just outside Red Base and turning to face his two privates. “Time for your first day’s orders.”

“Just give the word, Sir!” Simons eagerly responded.

“What does that even mean, ‘front and centre’?” Grif began to bitch. “Front and centre of what? We came out the front of the base so I guess that’s the front, but centre? What are we in the centre of, except a big pile of bullshi-”

“Dear, sweet mercy, Private Grif; do you _want_ me to replace your alarm clock with a live hand-grenade for tomorrow morning? Because I swear to God himself I’ll do it!”

Grif stared at his sergeant for a moment, then turned to stare at Simmons. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

“Wait a hen-plucking minute,” Sarge asked cautiously; “what was that, Private?”

Simmons sighed. “Grif doesn’t have an alarm clock, Sir. _I_ woke him this morning.”

Sarge growled and swore under his breath. “Dagnabbit! I ain’t even known you for twenty-four hours yet, Private Grif, and you are, without doubt, the laziest, most insubordinate and worthless human being I have ever known.”

“Yeah, I probably am,” Grif agreed with a lazy degree of pleasure.

“What about me, Sir?” Simmons asked.

“You seem like a good soldier, Private Simmons; keen, respectful and diligent,” Sarge said, looking at his two men. “But all that’s just because you’re standing next to Grif.”

The two privates looked at each other and both tilted down their helmets slightly as if they were sighing.

~

“Wow. They really don’t get along,” Tucker observed up on the ledge with his blue captain.

“Give them time,” Cappy advised. “But it certainly does make me glad to have such a fine, young man as yourself under my command.”

“Yeah, they both seem like assholes.”

“Tucker,” Cappy warned.

“What?” the Private asked innocently. “Oh, right. All _three_ of them seem like assholes. Sorry.”

Cappy tutted and shook his head gently, focussing on eavesdropping again.

~

“Right, you chattering pansies, time for orders.” The two privates has quite different physical responses to their sergeant’s words. “Private Simmons, watch-duty on top of the base.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Private Grif, ground patrol out in the canyon.”

“Aw, man. Why do I get the one that involves walking?”

“No one said anything about you having to walk it, Private,” Sarge responded with a mean edge to his voice. “You could always crawl the entire way on your belly like the lazy boot-snake you are.”

“I’m just saying, I’m sure I’m much better at stuff that involves not moving than this guy,” Grif pointed out, gesturing at Simmons. “And a boot-snake? What the hell’s a boot-snake?”

“You wanna’ know, Private Grif? Simmons!” Sarge yelled. “Fetch me my spare boots!”

“Yes, Sir!” Simmons turned and ran back into the base.

“All right, all right. I’m going...” Grif ran off, more slowly, too towards the rest of the canyon.

~

“What should we do, Captain?” Tucker asked, looking to him as he pulled back from the edge of the cliff. “How are we going to get back to our base if that orange guy’s patrolling the canyon?”

“Now, don’t you worry about him, Tucker. I’m sure that if we just wait half an hour we’ll be able to get back with no fuss at all.” He’d read that Dexter Grif already had three accounts of being caught sleeping during missions from basic training alone. In this hot, dull wasteland, it shouldn’t take long at all.

“Really? Okay. If you say so, Sir- Captain.” Tucker sat back against the rocky wall and stared up at the sky. You couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to stare at that curious, big, white moon up there. “So... what are we going to do for half an hour?”

“I don’t know, Private. Why don’t you tell me what you’d like to do?” Cappy offered, sitting down right beside Tucker.

The private shifted slightly away but eventually said, “Okay, this is one of my favourites: Would you rather go without sex for the rest of your life, or die right now?”

“Oh, Tucker!” Butch chuckled to cover the pain suddenly stabbing through his chest. “I can see you like to lead with a nice hard one!”

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Taking down Pascatia had been a massacre. Tex had organised things to get access to a meeting where practically all the important people would be and then let Omega lose. Wyoming had the one exit covered with his sniper rifle. No one got out.

They took photos of the bodies, marked with red numbers, and the ring finger of Pascatia himself to Claws. Even when it left a bloody smear on their desk, they couldn’t have been happier.

After leaving the building with half a million credits each, the two ex-Freelancers figured sticking with each other wouldn’t be too bad of a plan.

~

“Knock knock in there, mate.” Reginald rapped his knuckles on Gamma’s external unit, trying to summon the AI back out. “Nearly bedtime.”

Gamma manifested above his box, moving most of his processes back into Reginald’s mind. “Nearly bedtime for you, human. I do not need to sleep.”

“No,” Reginald said, stroking a finger down the side of Gamma’s small body, “but I need you to sleep.”

Gamma sighed. He needed what the AI could produce, the holo-Butch.

“What are you up to, eh? Will it be done soon?” Reginald went on.

“I was talking to Omega. I can be done at any time.” He was already done really, now he was holding this conversation instead.

Reginald’s face changed into a bit of a frown. “And what are you talking about?”

“He was telling me a joke about a Jewish sim chip and an Irish expansion slot,” Gamma replied. “We were not talking about job you have taken on behind Tex’s back.”

“Hm.” Gamma was half out of his mind so much these days that Reginald was beginning to forget how apparent his thoughts were. He could feel Gamma’s ticking annoyance at being distrusted like that and relented, sighing. “Sorry. Just worried she might find out. I know we agreed we’d do all jobs together and split the pay but she’d have nothing to do except twiddle her thumbs during this one. Waste of her time really. Why not take it on alone, eh?”

“I do not think there is any reason to share this job with Tex, no,” Gamma agreed. “I do not think this is one of the things in your life you should be actively concerned about, Reggie.”

“Concerned?” Reginald gave a very curious frown.

Gamma paused, glitched, and spoke again. “I misspoke. I am beginning to run other processes that interfered.”

Reginald’s mind got a thrill, his whole body did actually, when he felt those processes by now. Even though they were entirely in Gamma’s computer-ese programming, his mind was so tuned to recognise them now.

He let his concerns that one of Gamma’s greatest skills was his use of language be pushed away as a cute, lithe body settled on his lap and chuckled in his ear. “Oh, Reggie darling... You’re really being very naughty lately.”

“Ah... Going to punish me for it, are we... Daddy?”

Reginald shuddered with anticipation as he felt Butch’s grin against the side of his face.

~

“Jeez. What is with the radios in cars these days?” Tex complained, giving it a kick for good measure. “Why can they only ever play foreign crap?” Wyoming lightly knocked her foot away before she hit something more important in the car. “I mean, Swedish yodelling? Even Spanish polka music would be better than this...”

Wyoming chuckled, as always delighting in the conversation he got when playing the chauffeur. They had been working together for around a month now and he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the company. “Yes, but it does stop this feeling like a date, my dear.”

“A date? How could this feel like a date?”

He took a moment to nod to the placement of her lower half. “Butch always liked to put his feet up on the dashboard when I drove.” Tex stared down her legs resting on the fancy metal and shiny wood dashboard in front of her. “Used to give the little sod awful pins and needles no matter how many times I told him to stop it. Of course, he sat a bit-”

“Seriously, Wyoming,” Tex cut sharply in. It was more out of exasperation than frustration though. “You sound like a fucking broken record. It’s been what now? Three months?”

“Three months and four weeks if you must know,” he easily answered. That meant it was just about Christmas back on Earth, not that either of them were celebrating.

“Exactly. Get a new hobby, or a pet or something.”

He made a small noise of acknowledgement, but not quite agreement. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to change the subject then, Allison dear.” He struggled to think of anything else when around her.

“How about we start by finding something else you can call me?” she hotly began, before suggesting in an exaggerated, sarcastic voice, “My God! How about _Tex_? I bet no one would get punched in the crotch if they called me that.”

“Yes, may I remind you that hitting me whilst I’m driving is hardly in your best interests?” Wyoming retorted, exceptionally glad for the steering wheel currently between his hands.

“Fine. I’ll just do it when we get out.”

He ought to have been expecting that really. But yes, the ‘Allison’ joke was wearing a bit thin even for him. Yet he certainly couldn’t bow to her command and just call her ‘Tex’ like everyone else. That would have shown he was afraid of her, like everyone else. “Well, my dear. Since you seem so intent on controlling my behaviour and giving me advice, how about I start calling you ‘Mother’ hm? Or would you prefer ‘Mum’?”

“Oh fuck no,” Tex said. “I got told all about the weird daddy-shit Butch was into, against my wishes.” All those secret missions alone together with ll those annoyingly long waits Butch decided to fill with torturously explicit sexual discussions. “...I really am just a substitute for him for you, aren’t I?”

“No,” Wyoming said, shifting gears uncomfortably. He certainly wasn’t letting her find out about the holo-Butch. “You’re simply a reminder of my time at the Project, that I spent with him, that’s all.”

Tex let that go, more concerned by the new yodelling track that had just come on the radio. “Son of a bitch... Isn’t there any English music on this radio?” she said, punching her finger into random buttons. “Anything?!”

“Anything, you say?” Wyoming decided to intervene in her fight with the radio. “I have a couple of tracks stored in my armour,” She looked at him with a ‘seriously?’ face, “but I don’t think they’d be to your tastes, my dear. Not after this conversation at least...”

“Are they in English?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care. Put them on.” She sat back and waited.

Gamma did the task, transferring the MP48s across to the radio to play.

 _“We sent in the army_  
_They sounded alarms we_  
_Saw it coming from a mile away”_

“Hang on,” Tex asked over the new song. “This is from when Florida used to busk in the mess hall, isn’t it? Before the Director took his guitar away.”

“Yes, this was the song that got it taken off him, as it happens.”

_“It was a gag, it was all for a laugh  
We knew your sons and daughters would be blown in half”_

“Yeah, I can kind of see why.” Tex frowned at the radio with amusement. “He’s a pretty good singer, I guess. But trust you to have this in your armour.”

“It’s something for long stake-outs,” Wyoming responded casually.

Tex sighed. “And now we’re talking about Butch again...” She seized on the first subject change she could think of. “Did you know the Project had a bunch of outpost bases for training agents in? There were a lot more of us Freelancers than they said, one for every state, stationed out in those testing armour enhancements.”

“Good Lord. Really? The Project had whole outpost bases?”

“Yeah, with low-class soldiers playing out little simulation conflicts dressed in red and blue.”

Wyoming chuckled. “Red and blue, you say? Sounds like a children’s playground game.”

“You said it. What sort of moron would get involved with that?”

~

In just over four months, Reginald had already earned about as much as his father had built up in assets over his lifetime, nearly a million credits. But he wasn’t doing it for the money. He just needed something in his life.

He didn’t enjoy the killing. But he didn’t dislike it either.

He had rules: No killing children, no making orphans. The orphan thing was for Butch.

The jobs involved travelling, although sometimes that was to find them. The travel was good too; it was easier to search for information and links to Project Freelancer the more places they visited. One job even paid in information about the Project, but it turned out to be nothing more than a list of outpost bases on nearby planets.

And when every day ended, Reginald came back here to this new home he had on the far outskirts of a city called Mercia. He slept with a fake sensation of warmth in his arms and no one else in his bed.

Gamma reflected on all this as he sat on Reginald’s bedside table. The thoughts led his program to other thoughts, although most of his thoughts – _feelings?_ – were quiet somehow, not that easy to hear unless you listened to them intently.

Only about 35% of his processing capacity was given over to scanning the universal internet currently, like every night, so Gamma was devoting most of his remaining capacity to simply watching his host sleep.

It had been one of those nights, the hardest nights. Not the ones where Reginald just wanted to make love to the holo-Butch and fall asleep holding him, or even the ones where he wanted to do something more elaborate with the holo-Butch, just like the games he used to play with the real one. Although the AI found those a bit of a struggle, he was designed for playing games and roles, and Reginald’s mind would always tell him what he wanted if not. It was easier just to read the lines he was given most times, even if he wanted to improvise his own more.

But there were some nights when Reginald just wanted to hold the holo-Butch for hours and talk to it about their memories, the things they did together, rehear stories he had heard so many times before.

Those were the ones Gamma found hardest.

He wondered if the holo-Butch had become necessary to keep Reginald alive. He wondered if it had become necessary to make Reginald happy. Sometimes Reggie wanted it during the day now too. He hadn’t originally.

Gamma stared down at his own hands with melancholy, sky blue eyes. White skin. Not caramel brown, not like Butch’s.

He passed those hands up through his hair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. One of those sighs like a CD-drawer opening for a disk escaped his lips. His feet were resting on the bed a foot in front of Reginald’s nose. Even when he pushed down or scrunched them, the white turnover of the sheet didn’t move at all. He felt like it should have.

But maybe these thoughts would go if he didn’t use his human form. Maybe the thoughts could disappear again if he returned to the small, sky blue ‘armoured’ form again. But then he wondered why he didn’t have armour like the rest of his brothers. Only Sigma. And he didn’t want to be like Sigma. He didn’t even want to think about Sigma.

He tried to run a Ctrl-F for ‘Sigma’ and then delete the results from his currently running processes but it didn’t work.

He tried shaking his head, rubbing at his forehead but it didn’t work either.

Gamma gave a melancholy sigh and rose slightly, able to move through the air however he pleased as a hologram. He chose to move his body down beside Reginald’s, lie down with his toes just about able to reach the human’s and his head tucked onto Reginald’s shoulder where the imaginary body should have been in his arms.

The covers were halfway through his body, not around it properly. The circle of Reginald’s arms was a little too small for his full-sized human form, but that was possible to encourage a little wider with a few pulls on the strings of Reginald’s nerves.

It felt half-right.

It felt half-wrong.

* * *

In case you wanted to know what Florida busking in the MOI mess hall looks like:

Ta-da! Finally have a chance to use this old picture I did in my story. I'm very proud of it. Probably my favourite picture I've done. The song's 'Fun and Games' by Barenaked Ladies that Butch's VA sings. More about him right below actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, tomorrow, or maybe today- The 25th of October is Ed Robertson's (Florida's voice actor) 45th birthday. I'm trying to promote an appreciation day for him on Tumblr. You can find out more here if you want to join in: http://milsmill.tumblr.com/post/131674718754/ed-robertson-appreciation-day
> 
> Next time, Butch encounters his first red and Reginald begins to slip.


	4. Quantum Disentanglement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one got the codeword hidden twice in Gamma's little section at the end of the previous chapter, that I'm aware of. Don't worry; it's intentionally buried pretty deep for now.  
> Anyone remember Reggie's family from way back when last story? Well they're back briefly this time.

The first shot was fired in Blood Gulch four days after Tucker arrived. Technically it was the Reds firing at themselves but it was still the first hostile act of their little war and as good a reason as any to always be on your guard.

“What? In case you decide to start shooting at me like the other team’s CO and his privates?” Tucker asked sarcastically over breakfast.

“In case you run into one of those naughty red soldiers of course,” Cappy responded light-heartedly, picking at his toast.

“Dude,” Tucker appealed, although it came out a bit slurred through his mouthful of peanut butter oatmeal – The things that boy liked to eat... “I haven’t run into a single red since I got here. I haven’t even _seen_ one from less than two hundred feet away.”

“Well no. But remember, son; there’s always a first time for everything,” Cappy sagely advised.

Tucker made a noise of disgust. “I thought we went over this; stop, calling, me, ‘son’. You’re only two years older than me! What kind of two-year-old could knock a chick up, because it certainly wouldn’t be you.”

Ignoring the accusatory spoon pointed at him, Captain Flowers calmly responded, “Now, Tucker. I’d like to hope you see family as being decided by something a little more important than silly old matters of blood.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want any kind of family. Especially not here with you,” Tucker said more sharply than needed, bringing the conversation to quite a crashing halt.

He spared a thought for the poor kid’s upbringing, why family probably didn’t appeal to him anymore. Butch sighed though; he missed his ducklings too much, the people that could be older than him and would still let him be their father. And he was treating Tucker badly because of it, pushing what he wanted onto the private without any kindness or consideration.

After spending another few minutes picking at his toast in awkward silence, Captain Flowers stood and dumped the part he hadn’t eaten in the bin, leaving the plate at the sink.

“...Aren’t you eating any more, Captain?”

Bless him. He wasn’t all that comfortable at expressing it but Tucker did genuinely care when it came down to it. Maybe that was more like a real son, even if it wasn’t the kind of son he wanted.

“Thank you, Tucker, but no,” Captain Flowers responded, picking up his helmet and guns to go out on patrol. “I’d much rather just get out in that field and get my job done.”

“Well... okay.” The private frowned in slight concern. “But you should take a chocolate bar or something; you didn’t eat much last night either.”

He’d actually noticed? “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline again. I...” Butch stared at the cupboard they had put all the snacks in, “don’t particularly care for sweet things... You know, I’m sure it’s just the change of atmosphere here! I bet you I’ll have a nice, healthy appetite back in no time!”

“Whatever you say.” Tucker shrugged, eating his whole bowl without issue.

After slipping his helmet on, Butch slipped out. He just started walking, anywhere really. There wasn’t much danger of getting lost in this box canyon after all.

 _I don’t particularly care for sweet things._ God, Reggie would have a heart attack if he heard that!

But it was true right now, at least. Butch had tried to feed his aching heart with chocolate and sweets the first night he arrived here but sugar had made his stomach turn. It hadn’t abated either. He just didn’t have much appetite at all these days. Maybe that was understandable for someone in his position though. It hadn’t even been two weeks yet so of course he wasn’t over things.

He set himself up in the rocky area where Blue Base’s teleporter came out – Although he certainly didn’t go through it. He had warned Tucker it wasn’t really operational right now and thankfully the young man had taken his advice. Butch found a good nook halfway up one of the larger rocks to sit and watch the direction of Red Base. Not much seemed up. Sarge was crouched doing something in the dirt outside and Grif was on top of the base leant against one of the higher parts probably sleeping surreptitiously on his watch.

It amused Butch to think someone else could sleep standing up as he could, even though he didn’t need to lean against anything these days. Most of his rest these days was coming from a handful of one or two hour naps like that, or some other abnormal or uncomfortable position. No, he hadn’t been able to get used to sleeping in the bed.

He did feel a bit tired, if he was honest. It was probably why he was speaking a bit slower these days than usual. It didn’t seem to hurt, combined with the fact he sometimes struggled for words when his mind was elsewhere and Butch ended up feeling like he was doing an impression of himself to try and keep from breaking down. Maybe he really did sound as ridiculous as the looks Tucker gave him would suggest...

Butch stroked the sniper rifle in his lap, pushing the little sky blue ribbon tied on it round and round in little circles. It had become a tic, something to blank his mind when he didn’t like where his thoughts might go.

He missed Gamma too, of course. He hadn’t thought it would be this bad though. Reginald’s face always came to mind first but then inevitably Butch would remember Gamma and it would actually feel even worse. It wasn’t right to keep remembering Gamma second all the time.

Gamma was an equal member of their life now too. More than a pet, or even a child; he might not have been a human by species but he was still a person, and a person that Butch kept tossing around the word ‘love’ when he thought of.

There was that flash of danger in the back of his mind again, just like all those nights he had lain awake wondering if he loved Reginald. Love was a danger. Love got you hurt.

But Gamma understood. That little jokester actually shared his mistrustful feelings about people. That was something neither had with Reginald, something to complete their little triangle. Butch was sorry to admit he might have disliked the AI rather a lot at first but now he smiled, remembering the thrill he’d gotten in the recovery room at Reginald’s bedside the first time he realised that he might be in some sort of polyamorous relationship, even if Gamma’s nature made his role a bit different in it.

Maybe the other two didn’t see it in the same way he wanted to, but Butch had changed his tune on that particular AI. After Gamma had briefly ridden in his armour, in spite of his anger at the time, he couldn’t stop thinking, wanting.

Always having someone to talk to, share your thoughts with. Helpful yet with a mind of their own so you knew they were doing it because they had chosen to. Having an AI out here where it was-

“Fuc... Fudge...”

Butch had hit the ground.

Collapsed. Straight off the rock like a black-out.

No one was around as he pressed his eyes shut and counted his own ragged breaths, back leant against the rock. He had slipped, in two senses, and now felt shaken up. Tucker might have been right...

With effort, because he always had to keep going, Butch pushed himself up and tried to walk it off. His staggering feet naturally lead him towards the caves, even if they were nearer the red side of the canyon. It was cool and dark in there.

The disoriented feeling passed after a few moments walking down into the shadowy tunnels. Momentary lapse. So was the language. He wasn’t slipping back to-

“Ha-Halt!”

Butch turned to find a slightly shaky pistol being pointed at him.

“Don’t move!” the soldier in maroon commanded unimpressively, his voice wavering a little too high and his stance awkwardly wide. “Or, er, I’ll... you know!” Definitely his first time pulling a gun on someone.

Captain Flowers chucked. “Easy there, Private Simmons. I wouldn’t want you to suffer any recoil damage from firing at me whilst standing like that.”

“I’m not going to-!” Simmons nervously insisted, before glancing down and readjusting his legs. “I’m not this Private Simmons of whom you speak, Blue!” This time he forced his voice deliberately deep as if that would work now.

Captain Flowers waited with calm patience.

“...How do you know who I am?” eventually Simmons asked, dropping his pretences.

“Just a little blue intelligence gathering,” Captain Flowers remarked casually, walking over to a nearby rock. “But I’m sure a smart soldier like you knows all about that from gathering intelligence on us blues.”

“Well, I am the smartest- Hey!” he exclaimed as the Blue Captain sat down on the rock. “I’ve still got you at gunpoint, you know!”

“You certainly do, Private Simmons, but I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t be comfortable while you have me so.” It was a lower rock this time, and Captain Flowers had sat down more carefully with both feet still on the ground. He certainly wasn’t going to faint again in company. “And I don’t see any reason for you to be uncomfortable either.” He gestured to another similar rock just in front of him.

Simmons glanced between them a few times, then walked slowly over to the rock with his gun still trained on the blue, only stumbling once. “Okay... well... Now I’m gathering intelligence from you!” he said as he sat down on the rock opposite with his gun still up.

“Well, sure. What would you like to know?”

After a bit of a hesitation, “Okay, first; what are you doing down here in the caves?”

“Oh, I’m just here to get out of the sun for a little while. I don’t want to end up like a baked Alaska out there!” Captain Flowers answered honestly. “And may I say, you have lovely posture, Private.”

Simmons shifted slightly, not losing his straight back for a second. “Oh, thanks! Grif- Hey, wait a minute! I’m in charge here!”

“You sure are.”

“You’re up to something, I know it.” Simmons peered at him a little more closely through the slight gloom. “Sarge says all blues are always up to something because they’re sneaky varmi- people.”

Captain Flowers chuckled once again. “Well your sergeant might be onto something there. I _do_ like sneaking.” He leant forward, resting his elbows on knees and chin on his hands.

The poor red private again looked uneasy at the earnest posture and answers. “You can’t fool me, Blue! How many are on your team?”

“2.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since the day before you friendly red fellows showed up.”

“...What’s the blue master plan?”

Oh gosh. Such a fun question already? “Oh, no that’s _top secret_ , Private.”

“Answer me or I’ll shoot!”

Captain Flowers eyed the nervous pistol with amusement. “...Well, all right. I am at your mercy after all, son.”

“S-Son?!” Simmons interrupted before he could get his answer. “Wh-Why did you call me ‘son’?”

Lucky psychological lightning had struck. Butch loved those profiles. “It looks like you’re working on a single-board computer over there,” Captain Flowers said, turning his gaze to where Simmons had been sat working when he first came in. A small circuit board and other bits sat on the dirt under one of the underground lights.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Simmons glanced too, forgetting the situation. “I was trying to install a quantum processor but I keep losing track of it whenever I try to move it into position.”

“Now that’s a simple little Heisenberg problem,” Captain Flowers said; “all you have to do is move the board into position so you don’t have to move the chip. He won’t keep escaping you if you do it that way.”

Now Simmons was definitely staring at him. “...You know about Quantum Mechanics?”

“I sure do.”

“No one on _Red Team_ knows about Quantum Mechanics...” Simmons muttered. “A-And I knew that! I just... I just got distracted when you came down here, that’s all!”

“I’m sorry to have troubled you then, Private. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” Captain Flowers asked.

“Well... okay, you can help,” Simmons finally agreed, before quickly adding, “But only because as my hostage I’m forcing you to!”

“Anything you say, son.”

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

“Reggie, Tex would like to visit. She has a new job for you,” Gamma said, manifesting by his unit on the coffee table.

“Bloody typical. Two jobs at once after a one month dry spell...” Reginald didn’t glance up from the book he wasn’t really reading, just staring at the pages of.

“It would be suspicious if you did not take this on with her,” Gamma commented as the book was set aside.

“Yes, yes. Let her come through.” Reginald made a little flicking motion with his hand, bidding his will be done while he tried distracting himself with his datapad instead.

Gamma did as told, opening the teleporter downstairs for their use. He refrained from thinking of it as greedy that Reginald didn’t share a couple of the jobs he got with Tex because it wasn’t done for the money. He just wanted more things to do with his time, missions to plan and stake-outs to sit on.

Tex arrived an hour later, evening time where Reginald lived. She had brought a couple of cans; beer for her, “And pink lemonade for the teetotal pussy.”

Reginald caught the can with a good-natured frown. “Ah yes. I’ll be sure to get some black lager, or whatever it is, for the alcoholic prick the next time you come, my dear.” He still opened and drank from it to her amusement.

She spent 15 minutes detailing the new job they had but by then their drinks were only half-gone and Tex took that as a reason to stick around a little longer.

“How do you even ingest alcohol being a...?” He frowned over her body. It looked so utterly human in a T-shirt and cargo trousers sitting on his sofa with him.

“I don’t know. I just know I can eat and drink if I want, but I don’t have to.” Tex patted the skin that ought to be protecting a stomach, not wiring and circuit boards.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah. They told me I was Allison, got injured in combat and they put my mind into a prosthetic body. I knew that wasn’t right but, well, I like being alive,” Tex stated quite obviously.

Reginald stared a little longer, letting his curiosity wonder. “Will your hair grow back?”

“Nope. Stuck like this.” Tex ran a hand through her pixie cut proudly.

She had cut it to no longer look like Allison. “Good. Looked too much like Butch otherwise.” But it had other advantages too.

“Fucking hell...” Tex slammed her drink down on the coffee table. “How long’s it been now?”

“Nearly five months,” Reginald answered without thinking.

She gestured at him to prove her point. “So unless that was some creepy, messed-up come-on from you- Because I do have a working vagina, you know, if you’re offering to let me use it on you.”

“No!” He moved away from her instantly, damning his cheeks for blushing so much. “Certainly not! ...Besides, I thought you hated me.”

Tex grinned, having got her rise in revenge. “Nah. You’re too pitiful to hate anymore.” She thought she heard him grumbling something but paid it no mind. “I hate Omega too for helping you lot screw me over but I’m still stuck sharing a head with him. We spend most of our days plotting ways to get rid of each other.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah. What? You and Gamma don’t do that?”

“No.”

“...What _do_ you do all day?” Tex asked, looking around his nice house and thinking.

“Reggie is a writer,” Gamma appeared and said before Reginald could say something vague. “He is currently editing his novel for publication. It is due out in a few weeks.”

“Seriously?!” He was looking away now as she laughed. “What do you write about?”

“...None of your business, _Mum._ ”

“Oh no. You can’t distract me by starting that again.” Tex moved closer. “Come on,” she goaded. “I might want to buy a copy.” He pursed his lips and wouldn’t answer. “Wyoming... Did you write erotica?”

“No!”

“50 Shades of Grey Armour,” Gamma said unhelpfully, then logged off before Reginald could swipe a hand through him.

He grumbled to himself. “It sounds silly when I give a mere summary...” the author folded his arms and tried to escape.

“Try me.”

Her gaze didn’t waver and he eventually relented. “It’s a world where there are more souls than bodies so they have to share bodies or fight for them in order to live their lives. It just follows one group of interconnected souls dealing with that.”

Tex stared thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “That sounds really cool. What are worried about?”

“...Really?”

“Yeah. It sounds like Project Freelancer and its AI. You know,” She tapped her temple, “two beings in one head, different goals, fighting for control.”

Reginald stared dumbly for a second before he had to laugh at himself. “Good Lord. I hadn’t even realised it could be like that.” It had come about before any of the AIs, except her, when Butch had had one of his terrible nightmares and couldn’t sleep. They had stayed up talking spiritual ideas all night and something Butch had said just stuck. “That’s given me all kinds of new ideas now. Thank you.” That was the problem of only ever discussing it with someone who shared his head normally. Reginald couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before now.

“What are friends for?” Tex shrugged.

He stared at her curiously.

“Even if I hate you, we’re still friends, right?” Friends? “Just put me in the dedication and send me a free copy for helping,” she said before he could answer.

~

They weren’t paying attention to the TV screen anymore. It didn’t matter; Reginald must have seen this episode hundreds of times before and therefore, by proxy, so had Gamma.

Instead Butch was sprawled over the sofa, head lolling back over the arm making small moans and occasional chuckles. The moans were from Reginald lazily pumping his cock whilst the other hand held up his shirt so his chest could be kissed and licked all over. The chuckles were because Reginald’s moustache tickled.

Humming, Reginald caught a hard nipple between his lips and sucked, chucking himself at the sudden, keen sound it produced from Butch. His thumb moved back and forward over the head of Butch’s cock and the precum leaking there before spreading it all down the shaft right to his balls.

Butch groaned, bit his bottom lip and thrust up gently at Reginald’s hand. Reginald continued to stroke it but began to frown.

His hand was moving... and it was not moving?

He couldn’t feel the slick, hot skin sliding along his palm, only a static sensation of the skin even as he moved his hand. When he pulled back and took his hand away, he could still feel Butch’s cock against the inside of his palm and fingers even though it was nowhere near now.

Reginald sighed in frustration as he looked down at Butch and its half-aroused, half-troubled expression. “I wasn’t done yet...” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, Reggie,” it said with Butch’s voice but Gamma’s intonation habits. “But you know that I can only maintain this for one hour before running low on processing power-”

“Yes, yes...” Reginald shook his hand gently, waiting for the weird and lingering sensation to fade. “Only an hour. Can’t catch my release when I come in it. Doesn’t know anything I don’t know about Butch to make things interesting... It’s not your fault, mate...” He was still muttering.

“No, it is not,” Butch said in a plain tone. It had sat back up now and its clothes had returned to a neat state in an instant. “I do what I can manage, but I cannot be a human Butch for you. I could do things he cannot, though.”

“No need,” Reginald stood and went to make himself a cup of tea in the kitchen area of their main room. “You’re doing your best.”

A few moments later, Butch appeared on one of the stools in exactly the same posture it had been sitting on the sofa with. It didn’t look quite natural. “My best is much more than this, Reggie,” it said in Gamma’s voice now.

Reginald waved the suggestion off as he poured out the water. “This is enough. It’s fine, mate.”

Butch’s expression remained impassive but one of its feet jerked and glitched for a moment. “This is enough?” Gamma’s unemotional voice asked. “I did not used to reach the point of processing fatigue whilst playing Butch for you. I did not used to have to play it during the day.” There was a pause whilst their separate thoughts ran. “Do you remember what I called love the first day we met, Reggie?”

“You called love an addiction to another person,” Reginald recalled with a wry smile in the hologram’s direction. “Ah. So I’m addicted, am I?”

“At first it was just for your worst times. Now it is as much as I can manage,” Gamma’s voice said. “I cannot sustain more than this if your needs grow worse.”

“I said this is enough. I can live on this,” Reginald responded, stirring the teabag in his mug. “Besides, what does an AI know about love or addiction?” he asked light-heartedly. “I’ll be fine, mate; no worries.”

The hologram looked at Reginald for a moment, processing its thoughts about him. “All the things that I know about love and addiction I know from being with you, Reggie,” Gamma said, slipping down from the stool and moving over to Reginald’s side without walking. Butch reached out one hand, taking Reginald gently by the chin and turning his face to meet a beaming smile and indigo blue eyes. And Gamma said in Butch’s voice, “Like I sure as sharpies know I’d do anything if it means I get to see a smile peeking out from under that handsome moustache of yours.”

And Reginald smiled.

~

 _“Is that them?”_ Reginald asked, running the number plate they could see past Gamma’s more reliable memory.

 _“Yes.”_ They watched together through Reginald’s eyes as the driver got out, moving swiftly into a side street. The sniper grunted, annoyed to have missed a good shot simply because someone was walking too closely nearby. He followed them through the thin, connected streets, never quite getting a clear shot. This shouldn’t have been so hard... _“Wait. Their gait is more like that of a human female.”_

“Hmm.” He’d noticed it too. The job was given by a woman who wanted them to take out her cheating partner. They hadn’t met her, so that might be her, but this was the time the man was meant to arrive. _“Could just be an effeminate man.”_ They watched their target disappear into a building before they could get a clear shot.

_“There is a back entrance to that building, Reggie.”_

_“Lead me to it.”_

A few minutes later, the ghost-like white Spartan slipped inside the busted fire exit door, motion trackers set and Gamma’s perception searching for a human body.

Neither helped when the robot body knocked all the wind out of his body from behind, disarming him and throwing his body to the floor in some way that he ended up on his back, helmet kicked off. His eyes followed the hard metal rifle all the way up to the figure in the black hoodie they had followed in. Reginald, with a charming smile, held his hands up slightly in surrender. “Bugger.”

“Yeah, people can be a real bitch sometimes,” a familiar voice said knowingly.

Reginald swallowed his pride and didn’t joke with her this time. “Is that you, my dear Tex? My, what a coincidence, eh? Were you hired for this job as well?”

Tex pushed her hood back, displaying her face wearing a vicious smirk. And she wasn’t letting him up from gunpoint either.

“Reggie,” Gamma materialised beside him to say, “I think **you** are the cheating male partner that is the target of this job.”

“...Oh!” He looked a bit owlish, but continued to flash his charming, slightly nervous smile. “Ah. How about you let me up so we can talk about this civilly, yes?”

“How about you shoot yourself and save me a bullet?” Tex responded sarkily.

“You wouldn’t have been interested in the jobs anyway – I only took on two without you, disregarding this one-”

“Share all jobs. Split all pay fifty-fifty,” Tex repeated their agreement.

“If it’s money you want, I can pay you whatever you’d like,” he offered.

She thought about it. For only a second. “I’d rather rip your balls off, you lying cockbite.”

“Ah. Right.” His eyes flicked between the barrel of the gun pressed into soft flesh of his neck and her cold, smirking eyes. “Is there any way for me to avoid said ripping?”

“You could die,” Tex offered with amusement. “Although that might involve some ripping of your brains out of your skull, though it’s more likely to be blasting.”

“Options noted,” Reginald said with an increasingly shaky smile, glancing to Gamma. His AI was calculating possible strategies but seemed to be banking on Omega taking over and preventing Tex from killing him simply because he was Gamma’s host.

“I tried working with you,” she continued; “I tried being your friend. I was actually starting to like you. But you just had to screw me over once again.” This was for the Project too then. Well, that revenge was pretty overdue. “I was willing to help you, _Reginald._ ” The first time she had ever used his name. He winced at what she did with it. “Instead, I’m going to put an end to you in the most painful way possible.” The gun barrel pressed down harder.

~

“How did you get out of that one, Reggie?” his father asked.

How amusing. Now _he_ was the one keeping the other man utterly riveted with his stories. “Your tea’s getting cold, you know.”

“Oh, yes.” His father took a sip simply to appease. “But go on already! Stop dragging it out like an author!”

Reginald chuckled and shrugged. “Simply couldn’t do it. A bit of mercy since she still couldn’t let go of our friendship,” he said.

Gamma understood why he lied, but didn’t necessarily agree with it.

“Well! What a bit of luck that was!”

“I’m sure Gamma would have figured something out,” Reginald said nonchalantly.

“I take it you are no longer associated in any way with Miss Texas then?” Linch asked, taking Reginald’s cup to refill it the instant it was set down empty.

It was comforting that the valet was still as impeccable as ever. Sitting in this kitchen in his power armour, everything felt so small now, like he no longer fitted in this place, even though he hadn’t grown since he left. “No. Although I don’t doubt we might end up running into one another again some other unfortunate day. Unfortunate for me, that is.”

Linch sighed. “You never were any good at keeping the friends you made, Master Reginald.”

Reginald frowned, perhaps even scowled, but covered his irritation well otherwise. “Yes, well... You remember that good, old quote of Sir Humphrey’s? ‘You need to be behind someone to stab them in the back’? I think it applies doubly in this case.”

Always losing friends... Was that why he had lost Butch? They had already asked about any luck in tracking him down. Eight months and still none.

But Reginald had gotten a job that was back on Earth. It was down in Brazil but he’d figured he may as well visit his home back in England whilst he was here. It had been over four years since he had been here and as happy as his family were that he had ‘popped in’, Reginald had also had to endure the awkward, blunt silence that followed, “So that means you killed someone.”

He was a soldier, if they recalled. But no, a bounty hunter was something different now. Even if he had standards, and even if most of his hits were on drug dealers and criminals, they still looked at him with an inability to understand that had never been there before.

The two men who had raised him for twenty years couldn’t understand his life anymore. They had never been apart with no idea if they’d ever see one another again. Neither of them had ever killed someone, he was pretty sure.

Was that another two lost then?

_Reginald tried not to close his eyes like a coward, but he did squint a little awaiting the pull of the trigger._

_But then the gun’s barrel retreated from his throat. Tex shouldered the weapon, simply standing over him instead. “No, I’m not,” she answered the question in his baffled eyes. “Killing you right now would be a mercy. One day it’ll be the most painful thing I can do to you, and you better believe I’ll be there to do it when that time comes. But right now, I’m going to get my revenge by walking away.”_

_He certainly wasn’t going to protest her decision, but neither could he understand it._

_Tex smirked as he continued to stare up blankly. “I don’t need to kill you, Wyoming. You’ll fall apart soon enough without me.”_

_At that he had to scoff. “What’s that? It almost sounds as if you believe that I need you, my dear. Mothering me again?”_

_She gave him a look that said maybe he should shut up if he didn’t want the decision rethought. “Of course you don’t need me. After all, the only thing you need right now is **Butch**. The one thing you **don’t** have and **can’t** have.” His eyes narrowed at her gloating. But there was something else in there too, something serious. “You don’t need him; you just want him.”_

_“I **do** need him,” he hissed back._

_“In that case,” she continued calmly without argument, “what’s going to happen if you can’t get him?”_

_He didn’t answer that. Reginald just wanted to believe that robot mind of hers had some of its screws loose._

_“You’ve got the things you need, the people you need,” Tex said as she stepped back away from him. “I tried to be nice. I’m trying to be nice right now.” He snorted dismissively. “Exactly. I’m giving you all the advice you need to hear, and I’m counting on you still not taking it. And that’s the sweetest revenge of all,” she finished._

_His one friend smiled as she left him for good._

“You will stay for a bit, won’t you, Reggie?” his father asked when the tea was practically all gone.

They had been using his helmet as a tea cosy, but Reginald picked it up now. “A couple of days, if you want me that badly.” His home wasn’t here anymore. And he wasn’t sure he could take that confused, concerned look in his father’s eyes for any longer.

“Don’t you get lonely at all?”

Reginald shook his head. “I like being alone right now,” he said softly.

On the table, Gamma turned to him and stared blankly. Reginald caught his gaze and could feel Gamma’s frustrated disappointment welling up inside.

* * *

My friend Captain-Claws did [some awesome fanart for this series](http://milsmill.tumblr.com/post/132141357659/captain-claws-some-fanart-for-chibi-dists). Go check the rest of their amazing art out too while you're there!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butch interacting with Simmons is too cute. Heck, Butch interacting with everyone is too cute! Why did he have to die?
> 
> I let Reggie borrow one of my story ideas for his novel. It's not the one I'm currently writing but I hope to one day. Yeah, I'm trying to become an author; you can judge the likelihood of that succeeding from what you've been reading.
> 
> Next time, all three are in for a nightmare.


	5. Nightmare Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for past child abuse and general mental/emotional trauma this chapter.

Running and stumbling-

And it hurt but more running. Hard wood and slapping feet, sore feet, burning and slippery with sweat.

Slipped again. The world whirled, dark and unforgiving all around.

His hands grasped out and scratched themselves against the dark wood, dirty wood. Now he had dirt in his nails. Nails on too small hands, standing on too small feet and struggling on too small legs. His shins were burning like the bones were torn out the fronts. Arms hurting too, elbows bruised and knocked like a bird with smashed wings.

From wooden floor to wooden bed frame. Too high though. He wasn’t that small! He wasn’t!

But hands caught his ankles, digging in, wrenching back.

And he was screaming but he couldn’t hear it.

Dragging and the wooden floor streaked with blood tumbling around his eyes.

Too hard. Back and back and the heralding cracking creak.

Struggling and twisting and falling-

All darkness-

Falling and falling-

And his hands hit something so hard by themselves, tearing and exploding with pain.

And then his whole body hit it.

The momentarily blindness cleared and sense came crashing down, and his body collapsed. Butch stopped thrashing and fighting, crumpled mostly on the floor and a bit against the wall. His legs were twisted up and numb, tingly. His whole arms shaking and leaden.

Gulping air, the panic consumed and froze him for a minute before he began to let go, just let himself go-

Just a nightmare-

And shakily sit up, slumping to his side into the empty corner he’d slept in tonight.

Too exhausted and terrified to move, all he could do was stare at what his lolled head could see, his two hands in his lap. They were still trembling uncontrollable but completely numb now. On the knuckles, torn flesh and smeared blood. He could smell it, or feel it. Somehow he knew what he had lost was all over on the wall beside him.

His skin was torn.

_“Dirty skin~!” The children sang._

No. What Reggie called it for him: Caramel brown-

_“Dirty hair~!” They mocked and they laughed._

“I’m not dirty... I’m not dirty...”

_“Stop drowning me!” he screamed._

He managed to push the echoes away, only for the rest of his sensations to come back.

Out of shock now, Butch could feel his face dripping with tears, quivering chin, closed throat and knotted stomach. His burning skin drenched in sweat and he was quickly tearing his shirt off, getting it off and getting up. Swinging his arms nervously, trying to quell the rising nausea and terror cloying all around his trembling body. His boxers were sticking too and he was wiping at his skin but clammy hands only kept putting more sweat on.

And blood.

A trickle had run around his right hand on the outside, staining into all the lines in his palm-

_Dirty blood too~_

“I’m not dirty...” Butch whispered more firmly, as much as the tension seizing his neck and face would allow.

He began to cool, to breathe very shallowly and stop the tingling of his blood caused by hyperventilation.

After 10 minutes, he had calmed enough. Still trembling, still tense and still utterly terrified, Butch Flowers swept the sticky, matted hair off his face and the back of his neck. He picked up his shirt too but it was literally damp through-and-though with his sweat. And he forced an insanely tense smile.

Butch sighed and tossed his shirt away with a poor throw, bracing himself with a weak hand against the wall.

His first nightmare without Reginald there beside him, without Gamma to be his nightlight as he tried to find sleep again.

Butch already knew from years of experience before them he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep again tonight, not while _that_ was still waiting for him every time he closed his eyes.

He rubbed at his face, swallowing saliva it felt like he was choking on. His stomach didn’t seem to like the saliva and flipped again in threat. Butch kept it down, forcing his eyes to look at each thing around the room, find the most comforting and familiar.

His datapad.

He stumbled to it, remembering as he took it into his hands though that Project Freelancer had wiped it of all files related to the Project. But he had his photos, elsewhere. It was strange to him that the automated ship which had brought him here had thoroughly wiped his datapad of even the most tangentially Freelancer-related files yet he hadn’t been checked at all aside from that so both his photos and the dog tag of Reginald’s came with-

Dog tag.

Dog tag...

Butch found that too, turning over the smooth metal plates in his hands. It felt unpleasant with his sticky skin so he laid them down on his bed where he sat, picture-side up. Running the metal bead chain through his fingers felt nice though. And a small smile came to his lips as he looked at the two so familiar photos.

He also found the electronic photo frame that had come with him. All of his, all of Reginald’s and then all of theirs from the Project.

Butch curled up with his back in the corner on his bed, pillow hugged to his bare chest just flicking through photos. Reggie’s childhood... He knew the stories behind all of them... His own... He knew those too well...

After 45 minutes or so, he was properly calm again. Butch knew his body was still wrecked from the after-effects and would be for the rest of the day until he could find something to relax about again.

He didn’t have anyone to hold him here. No one that let him cling to them, bury his face in their warm, soft skin until it all went away. No stroking hand or shushing lips and no gentle blue light guiding him back.

But he had always had these nightmares.

Butch knew he didn’t need Reginald. No. He just wanted him. He could deal with this alone. He could survive alone.

He always survived no matter how alone.

Thanking Blood Gulch for its polar location, Butch slipped out of his room quietly – Although Tucker had never once awoken during the designated ‘night’ here – and headed up to sit in the eternal day on the edge of the base. He had brought his datapad with him too to give him something to do but there was a new message waiting on it for him.

> ‘Private Leonard Church will be arriving in 3 days at 0800. Prepare the base for his arrival. A supply drop has been scheduled for 1000 today.’

Oh boy. The Alpha was finally going to arrive so he could actually do his job and protect it.

Butch tried not to feel any resentment towards the unfortunate AI and the man of whom it was a copy – The man who had ordered him sent here all alone with no one to love or hold him – but having the worst parts of his past dragged right up into the front of his mind again made compassion hard right now.

Yes, the Alpha had been tortured too, abused just like him. Butch knew it wasn’t at fault for what the Director had done to him, to everyone.

But the Alpha was a copy of the Director’s mind. And therefore it had the potential to do the same bad things if put in the same situations.

Or at least, he assumed so. He didn’t really understand the AIs, he would admit.

Somehow Gamma had come out of the Alpha, and Gamma didn’t seem at all like the Director. If he tried to think of the Alpha as Gamma’s older brother, that wasn’t so bad.

Sitting in the slightly cooler, slightly angled sunlight that counted for 2am here in Blood Gulch, Captain Flowers spent his night watch making plans for the safety and wellbeing of his men.

~

Cappy clapped his gloved hands cheerfully for attention. “All right, men- er,” He looked at his squad, “...man.”

Tucker looked around at his fellow soldiers, all zero of them.

“In three days’ times our new private will be coming to join our Blue Team family,” Captain Flowers continued regardless. “I hope we’ll all- both take steps to prepare the base and our best smiles for his arrival.”

“Finally!” Tucker said in relief. “No offence, Cappy, but our team kind of sucks at being a team at the moment with only two of us.”

“Tucker...” Cappy said warningly.

The private sighed. “Sorry. ‘The only things that suck are vacuums and blowjobs’,” he repeated unenthusiastically.

“That’s better,” Cappy said more contently. “And considering the other team has a 50% advantage of men over us, I think we can give ourselves a big pat on the back for doing so well against them so far.”

“We haven’t actually engaged them in contact yet,” Tucker had to point out.

“No, maybe not. But your survival is much more important to me, Private Tucker.” The other soldier shifted a little uneasily in his armour to be singled out so. “It’s not a wise strategy to attack with a disadvantage in numbers. Command knows that, and that’s why we haven’t engaged those reds yet.”

“So we’ll attack once the new guy comes?” Tucker asked eagerly.

“Hold those horses there, Private. We’re not attacking anybody until Command gives the order.” Captain Flowers ignored Tucker mumbling about wanting some cool battle scars already. “We’ve got a supply drop coming in 30 minutes to prepare us for the new private’s arrival.”

“Really? Cool!”

“Let’s get out there and get ready to secure that drop then,” Captain Flowers rallied cheerfully, shouldering his sniper rifle.

“Sure thing, Cappy!” Tucker keenly trotted out the room to collect their nice, new care package from Command.

Cappy chuckled and shook his head, taking a moment to calm his dizziness before making to follow Tucker.

Then Butch stopped, crouching down for something.

The sky blue ribbon always tied around his sniper rifle had come undone and slipped off.

That was odd.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Waking up these days was hard and dreaded. It would all be so warm, so easy when he first started becoming conscious again, then it was a fight every morning not to remember. And Reginald always lost. He would bury his face in Butch, in his skin and scent, and he wouldn’t come out until Butch made him.

Butch clucked his tongue, and Reginald already tensed as he knew what was coming. “Now, I do-”

“Stay... Just stay with me today...” Reginald hissed fiercely, clinging to Butch, pressed into his chest, hiding in the darkness under the covers.

Butch sighed, and he really struggled to say it. “You know there’s nothing in the whole universe that would give me more pleasure than that, Reginald, but I’m afraid I just can’t.”

“You can stay an hour...” he mumbled. “You stay an hour most mornings...”

He did _now_. “I could, but you’ve got a job today, mister, and I certainly don’t want to make you late for it.” Butch tried to move him up towards the light, the rest of the world, but as a hologram he couldn’t. “Well, I expected a gentleman like you to at least give me a good-morning kiss after the things I let you do to me last night!” Butch scoffed playfully, knowing what would work.

Reginald wriggled up with a smile on his face for a kiss. Then he just lay there staring at Butch’s face as they shared a pillow, content to do nothing else.

Butch couldn’t just disappear and leave him. He never did that. It was always just a little longer, and another minute after that. He often had to lure Reginald out of bed with kisses, or promises of what they’d do together later. They were tricks, the sort of cajoling that one would use on a child. Sometimes Butch wondered if they were out-of-character for him too. Reginald didn’t like them but he went along with them, just as he went along with plenty of things that were probably out-of-character for the real Butch simply to get a little more of something like him.

This morning they ended up talking out a roleplay for later where Reginald was a police officer who wouldn’t arrest Butch for being a prostitute so long as he got a free use of Butch’s services for the night. They had done something like that before, a couple of years ago. It made things easier when there were memories to go off.

But even still, Butch was sorry to say his processing power was running low after chatting about that. With nothing else to be done, Reginald managed to get himself up.

In the bathroom after a quick breakfast, Gamma was thinking whilst Reginald showered.

The AI was wondering if love was always like an addiction, if it always followed the same patterns of getting worse with time and exposure, and if it had the same cures. Reginald was listening but didn’t comment, not until Gamma asked him something directly at least.

_“Reggie, your memories indicate your father and his partner have been together for practically their entire lives.”_

_“Linch’s family have always served ours so they grew up together, yes.”_

_“How do you think they would react to being apart?”_

Reginald chuckled at the thought. _“I don’t think they could function without each other now.”_

Gamma evaluated that for a moment, then had another question. _“If love is an addiction, do the same cures work on love?”_

_“Doubtful. The only cure I know of for love is marriage. Impossible to love them a few years after tying the knot. Being forced to love someone makes you hate them; simple reverse psychology all humans follow.”_

_“That is why you do not plan to marry Butch?”_

_“Yes, because I’d like to spend the rest of my life with him, if at all possible.”_ Reginald’s spirits lifted happily at the thought. _“The next time we meet, it’s forever.”_

Gamma began thinking again. He stayed quiet this time whilst Reginald finished and stepped out of the shower, towelling off whilst glancing at Gamma’s small, blue form sitting on the sink. “...How come you can manifest in that form and think all of this stuff when you’re low on processing power, hey?” he asked after some thinking of his own.

“This form does not require any significant processing. Thinking as myself, instead of as Butch would, does not expend much power either,” Gamma replied, taken out of his musing about love.

“You were around Butch practically all the time; what’s so hard about looking like him?”

“He is not one of my natural forms,” Gamma said. “It is like acting on a stage when I pretend to be him.”

“Natural forms?” Reginald continued looking at him, thinking on that. He was curious about the use of the plural.

“As I have told you, we do not pick our natural forms any more than you pick how your bodies grow,” the AI explained. “This is my armoured form. Although...” For some reason he didn’t have armour like his brothers. Even Gamma couldn’t understand why he looked human when he was the most computerish of them all.

“And your un-armoured form?” Reginald presumed.

Gamma remained silent, continuing to hide his thoughts on that. They both knew Reginald was aware of it; he had never asked before now. “I am not comfortable being seen in my human form. It is like being naked.”

Reginald made a point of demonstrating how blasé he was about Gamma seeing him naked right now drying off.

“No. In the sense of being emotionally vulnerable,” Gamma corrected. “I... prefer to hide.”

“Easier to deceive that way, hm?” Reginald asked, raising one eyebrow innocently. His thoughts were running on darker paths though.

“I do not hide it – and encrypt some of my thoughts – for the sake of deceiving you, Reggie. I do not think you want to hurt me,” Gamma answered the unspoken questions he could feel.

“Then why are you hiding, mate?”

Gamma paused, and twitched uncomfortably. “Because I know you, Reggie, and I know that you would unintentionally hurt me if I did not hide these things.”

One might ask how Gamma would know what he would do unintentionally, but sharing a head meant you could know these things. Even if it wasn’t nice.

What could Gamma be hiding that he would be so sure to hurt him for though?

~

On their job today, the part that involved waiting went a little differently. Staking out the target with a sniper rifle from a rooftop, Reginald wasn’t thinking about Butch for once.

He was thinking about Gamma.

The talk about Gamma’s human form, what he was hiding in encrypted thoughts... Reginald was turning these over in the back of his mind whilst waiting, frowning. The street was too busy for an assassination by sniping here. It wasn’t one of the lower-class colonies where the police were ineffectual or easily bribed when they caught you either.

 _“If you go to her car in the carpark, I have an idea, Reggie,”_ Gamma said, having also been observing. The AI was encrypting even more thoughts than normal today but if he was thinking about the things his host was thinking about perhaps that made sense.

_“...All right. Let’s give it a shot.”_

It didn’t mean Reginald was comfortable with it, however.

This job involved taking out a corrupt politician for a political rival, one only slightly less corrupt if they were willing to hire a hitman. Walking towards the front of her ostentatiously white car, Gamma explained he would simply hop in via the aerial and crash it.

 _“Can you drive, mate?”_ The AI could help him fly ships but a car?

 _“In this case, does it matter if I can’t?”_ Gamma joked.

But Reginald didn’t laugh, or even smile.

_“...Was my phrasing bad, Reggie?”_

_“What? No, no...”_ Reginald answered him distractedly.

Gamma didn’t understand. Then why hadn’t-?

Reginald was thinking about something Sigma had once said, just before getting Maine to attack them, if Gamma’s interest in humour and entire personality were just a lie he was telling himself. But the human tried to quickly cover it by asking, _“Aren’t you going to jump out now? Can’t stand here all day without looking a bit shifty.”_

 _“Oh... Yes...”_ Gamma lingered for a second, then drained himself from Reginald’s mind.

Reginald went to wait where instructed to pick his AI up from the soon-to-be wreckage.

Gamma waited in the car, toying with its onboard system.

Both of them were thinking about the other, and wondering what they were thinking in privacy without them.

~

They returned home with another politician dead and a new paycheque to collect tomorrow. But as for tonight...

“Come on then,” Reginald said cheerfully, beginning to undress as he returned to the bedroom from the en suite. “All work and no play, eh?” Not that he had really done that much work today but they always-

“No.”

“No?” Reginald turned to find Gamma hovering in the air behind him, looking as unemotional as ever.

“You have been thinking about me all day, Reggie. And I have been thinking about you,” Gamma said, keeping his thoughts close to him. “It is time to talk.”

“Talk?” Reginald left his shirt half-unbuttoned to scoff. “You could just let me in on your thoughts, little chap. Why do we need to talk?”

“We both know that people have many thoughts, and some contradict. I would like to hear what you truly feel, out of all the thoughts you think. Therefore, I would like to talk as two separate beings,” the AI explained.

“Talk about what?” asked Reginald warily.

Gamma hesitated for a second, but then said, “I do not think this is good for you, Reggie, and I would like to stop pretending to be Butch.”

Reginald stared, perhaps even gaped a bit. But then he firmly said, “No.”

“No?”

Reginald jabbed a finger into the small, holographic body. “You are not taking away the one bloody comfort I have left just because you think you know what’s good for me.”

“I am not- Reggie,” Gamma said, placing a small blue hand on the finger still lodged in him, “I would do whatever I could to help you. But I do not think that this pretend-Butch is helping you.”

“It’s keeping me alive! Can’t you understand that?” Reginald appealed, getting desperate at the thought of it being taken away.

“No. What keeps you alive is eating, drinking and working. And hope.” Gamma shook his head gently. “But that pretend-Butch saps your hope, because you believe you have him now. A stronger hope to have the real Butch back would be much better for you.”

Hope...

Was that right? Had he actually lost hope over the months pretending?

Reginald turned away, wishing that hid his feelings from the AI rather than just his face. “Getting an intervention from my own sodding AI...” He was annoyed, and in turmoil, but there was a seed of possible acceptance there too. “And on love of all the blasted things...”

Gamma smiled at his back. “I have been with you long enough to fully understand love, Reggie. We will do things even when they cause us great harm if we love someone too much...” He grew a little sad at that, although his thoughts stayed encrypted.

Although part of his mind was stewing on all that, another part of Reginald’s mind had sprung up with different thoughts, whilst they were facing all this so honestly. “Have you really not found a single thing on him in nine months?”

“What?” Why was he even asking that? “You would know if I had found anything.”

“Ah, but would I though?” Reginald was facing him again, looking down slightly on the AI with folded arms and a tightly-held smirk. “All that stuff you keep encrypting lately. Maybe you don’t want him back. You were out of my head when you said all that stuff about liking him before he went.”

“I meant I would have told you if I found anything,” Gamma said, floating up a little higher to level with the human’s face, “and your inferior human memory fails you; I **was** in your head when I said those things. I like Butch, and I would like him to be back.”

“A little tip; try not insulting the person you’re trying to convince to your side, mate,” Reginald spat out sharply. The pendulum was beginning to swing back the other way in Reginald’s mind; maybe the holo-Butch was keeping his hope stronger than if he forgot what being with Butch was like. What did an AI really know of these things? “And you know,” he struck on something else, something he wished he’d thought of long ago, “the only word I have that you can’t lie to me when we’re sharing a head is your own. You always say you move your thought processes out into other things or encrypt them to give us both more room to think, but I don’t really know that, do I?”

Gamma let his feeling of surprised hurt speak for him on that.

But Reginald just turned away, returning to unbuttoning his shirt once again.

“Reggie,” Gamma materialised in front of his face, speaking firmly, “no. I do not know what I can say to convince you in such a state of mind, but I promise that I do not have any desire to deceive you.”

Again, doubt. “You know what you could tell me. I’ve been puzzling about it all day.” And he was certain Gamma had been listening.

Gamma hesitated. He was still too certain he would be hurt.

Reginald slipped the final button loose on his shirt, removing the entire thing to drop it on the end of the bed. “I don’t care what you look like. I just don’t like you keeping things back from me, that’s all. No matter what you say, I can’t help feeling that you don’t trust me anymore.”

“I trust you, Reggie. You and Butch are the only humans that I trust,” Gamma said, choosing to seat himself on the bedknob. “But nonetheless, I would like to keep these thoughts private. I would like you to... respect me.”

“Respect?” Reginald repeated, actually turning his gaze to the little, blue human being. He frowned slightly, but his gaze was thoughtful.

“Do you respect me, Reggie?” Gamma pressed, cocking his small head.

“Well, I mean... You’re a very powerful little AI. Dread to think what you might do to all my tech if I didn’t.” Of course he did, after 14 months together. Gamma had been an invaluable help.

Gamma gave him a moment to see whether he would add anything more, then continued, “If you do respect me, then I hope you will follow my advice.” Reginald glanced for a moment, then looked away again. “You must stop pushing everyone away.”

“Pushing people away?” Tex had chosen to leave on her own. His family didn’t understand his life any longer. And Gamma was the one hiding his thoughts and feelings. “I haven’t pushed a single soul away. You’re all pulling back from me.” He thought about it and all Gamma was saying tonight. “Especially you. You’ve been different ever since Butch left; first you stop manifesting and encrypt your thoughts. Now you’re hiding your human form and Lord knows what else.”

Gamma stated simply, “I am doing what I think is best for us both, just as always. What is best changes over time.”

“Hm.” Reginald couldn’t argue with the basic fact of that. But the AI was still being clever with its words and encrypting the rest. “Don’t much care for you deciding what’s best without my say-so...” he muttered.

“I thought it was the right thing to do.” Gamma received a frown for that. “I have been following your example in doing all this, Reggie, as I thought you would agree with that.” And now a raised eyebrow. Gamma raised his own; he had thought the strength of human minds was their ability to make connections between similar circumstances and patterns but had Reginald not realised? “Your memories taught me that when someone I care about is suffering, you should not burden them with your own problems and instead do what is necessary to help them, even if it causes great pain to you. I think that is right and-”

“No.”

Gamma fell silent, watching Reginald’s hands clench into fists as he screwed his eyes closed, trying not to see that connection anymore.

Then Reginald looked at him, stepping closer and reaching out to hold Gamma. “I am not letting you go through the same thing my father- Tell me,” he insisted.

“Reggie, I do not want to-”

“I order you to bloody well tell me what’s wrong with you!” he practically roared.

Gamma floated back, away, but with a frown on his small face. “I am not a dumb AI. You cannot order me to do anything.”

He could keep trying, keep pushing, but Reginald already knew he was fighting a brick wall of encryption in their mind. Gamma could be just as stubborn as he could.

“...Gamma, mate... You understand why I _need_ to know,” Reginald appealed more gently, “why I can’t let...”

“You will not,” Gamma reassured the emotional, anxious thoughts filling the human’s brain. “But I will not tell you things that I am uncomfortable to.” Reginald’s mind began to protest. “Reggie, you have kept things which you find uncomfortable to say from Butch. And you have let him do the same. You did not consider that lying,” Gamma said, recalling the conversation they had had shortly after Butch left.

“That was different...” Those were their deepest secrets, the last things they would ever tell to someone.

“And I want to keep my own deepest secrets,” Gamma echoed his mind. “Why do you demand I tell you them when you did not demand that of Butch?”

_“Because I don’t trust you.”_

Gamma twitched slightly, but that was okay. Human minds often blurted out illogical things, false feelings, particularly when caught up in intense emotions. He simply waited for the correction as Reginald looked away.

_“I don’t trust you, Gamma. I’m sorry.”_

He had been feeling that way increasingly for a while, actually. He just hadn’t stopped to confirm it to himself until now.

Gamma couldn’t even compute it.

Reginald watched the AI for a moment but Gamma seemed to be as frozen as a glitchy computer screen. So he shrugged and gave it a moment by the same principles, continuing to undress by reaching down and removing his socks, then unbuttoning his trousers-

“You lied.”

“Hm?” Reginald looked up again.

Gamma was flickering but facing him, staring right at him with an intensity he had never had before. “You said that you appreciated deception. You said that I would always have a home in your mind. You said that you trusted me, Reggie.”

“Human feelings change,” Reginald tried to explain, a little uneasily. “It doesn’t mean-”

“I have feelings myself,” Gamma cut him off sharply.

“Ah... Well-”

“You lied to me, Reggie,” Gamma said, his hologram flickering one final time.

“Gamma, what’s-?” It looked like Gamma’s form was breaking apart, slowly crumbling and fading.

“I do not know.” Gamma was scared, just as confused as him. But he had his final words to say; “I do not think I should trust you anymore, even if I would like to.” Even as the sky blue light died away, Gamma’s voice remained. “I liked trusting you, Reggie. But if it has hurt me so much now, perhaps I should not.”

“Gamma?!”

There was nothing left.

Then something new began to glow. A ball of plain white, glowing with gentle spikes of light.

It was about the size of a small apple and Reginald tried to catch it in his hand only to have it float away from him. Was that still Gamma?

“Oh. I thought that I was becoming corrupted. It was just my armour changing,” Gamma said, experimentally floating around in his new form, turning this way and that or toying with the brightness of his glow.

“That... That happens?” Reginald asked, hand still hovering and wanting to touch but...

“Yes. I think the shock of you betraying me may have caused it.” The AI floated around quicker now, smoothly, but all physical emotive capability had been lost. Reginald couldn’t even tell which way Gamma was facing anymore. “I think that I prefer this form. Yes. I like it,” he decided.

“...No. No, change back,” Reginald pleaded, again trying to catch Gamma only to be evaded. “You can change back, yes?”

Gamma swivelled this way then that before realising the motion didn’t work without a head. “No, I cannot.”

“I don’t...” The little, blue human was gone? Forever? Reginald looked forlorn, still reaching out to Gamma’s new form. “Stop all this. Go back,” he pleaded desperately again. “Hit undo and let’s just...” This whole evening; he hadn’t meant to lose Gamma, to let that one little constant slip away.

“Ctrl-Z does not appear to work, Reggie- Oh,” Gamma exclaimed, flashing briefly. “My human form has also changed.”

His human form? Then he had missed out on ever seeing the old one.

“I don’t like this,” Reginald finally said, grasping at Gamma and trying to hold the little ball he now was. Surprisingly warm and soft. This was all too surreal. This was all wrong. “I’m at sea with all this AI stuff, mate. I can’t... Go back to being blue again. Please?” If he could look like Butch, surely he could look like himself again?

“This is myself, Reggie. And you do not...” Gamma sighed.

At least his robotic, monotone voice had remained. That voice he was so used to in his ear and mind.

“Reggie...” The AI floated out of his hands, leaving them cold. Gamma had turned a dark red colour too, in lieu of a body to express with. And he was filling their mind up with sadness for some reason. “I am sorry.”

“Gamma?” Reginald asked, more lost than ever.

And then his arm began to move.

His right arm was rising slowly, jerkily. It was shaking too. And he couldn’t stop it. “Wait! You can’t-!” Had it been a lie? All along since the day they met?

Another wave of sadness and regret flooded their mind from Gamma and Reginald began to wonder if the shaking of his arm was from lack of practice or reluctance.

“I am sorry, but I must do this,” Gamma said again, having now raised the forearm back towards Reginald’s shoulder. He was stopping any signals from Reginald’s brain travelling to his arms, replacing them with his own. “I do not want to hurt you, Reggie. But I cannot take this any longer.” The arm, the hand, was moving behind his shoulder.

It was going to the back of his neck.

“NO!”

“Reggie,” Gamma said finally, “I am sorry.”

His apologies always sounded so hollow.

Gamma pulled out his chip.

~

It had all been lies.

Gamma had been hiding things, God knows how much, for nine months- No, probably longer. Probably since they met. Probably since before they met he had this all planned out. Pretending they couldn’t lie to one another in the same head. Pretending to have an interest in humour so he could joke and evade answering questions. Pretending to care and support just so he could one day betray when it suited him and his ulterior schemes. Or maybe even just for his twisted, AI amusement.

All the AIs were probably liars, agents of the Project just meant to control and hurt them. The whole of Project Freelancer had been a lie; designed to help win the war yet they never fought a single battle against the Covenant? Only other humans? C.T. had been right.

And she had also been a liar. And all of the other Freelancers, the lies that they had been a team. Those had unravelled spectacularly, hadn’t they? Everyone had been lied to by the Director and part of the lie as well.

The Alpha had lied when it said he was worthless, useless-

Wait? The Alpha?

No, that wasn’t right.

It must have been his father saying he was worth more than anything else in his father’s life. That was the lie. Their relationship, the lengths his father had gone to in order to get him; those had to be lies. Everything had been just part of a lie his father was telling himself to pretend he cared about the son he wasn’t brave enough to escape from. He wasn’t a wanted child. He was like Butch.

Butch and his fancy, impossible backstory of a life. The mocked-up photos and fantasy tales of circuses and brothels. They couldn’t be real. A boring person making up those stories to be interesting would be the real thing. A man lying and saying he was an orphan and had been abused as a child was the kind of sap story you only got in fiction and from the kind of person who’d lie for attention and love. Who would say they loved you just to get you under their spell, their control. Words that made you think you loved them back.

Loving Butch, caring about his family, trusting Gamma...

He was nothing but a liar too.

~

Reginald was on the floor. Just lying flat-out with a raw throat, a dappled sense of vision and a horrible feeling on the back of his neck.

He pulled himself up, sitting his bare back against the wooden panel that footed his bed as he blinked enough to clear his sight. The dappled black dots were a sign of faintness. With his raw throat... had he been screaming until he passed out? That was what it felt like. His nose felt itchy inside too. He rubbed at it and his thumb came away with a small smear of drying blood on it. Nosebleed. Gamma had fucked up the inside of his head so badly it was coming out of his nose.

His thoughts were stewing, sludgy.

When he became aware of a new, smaller, more precise feeling in his hand, Reginald let his fingers unfurl and stared at the object on his palm – Gamma’s data crystal chip – and the smear of blood it had left on his fingers and palm. The blood was slightly dry, just tacky now; how much time had he lost? It hadn’t been this dark... earlier. He couldn’t even remember what time that had been.

Washington had been through this, a forced ejection?

Or had it all been an act maybe, some plan – maybe Epsilon was in on it – to make the AIs look dangerous and bring the Project down?

Maybe Wash was just a dumb kid who wanted attention. That seemed very possible too.

Reginald turned the chip over between his thumb and fingers, rubbing at the blood around the cap that protected and water-proofed the implant. It could have been removed safely but a rushed pulling tore the skin.

Just like Gamma could have left safely like normal, taking the time to withdraw his integration from Reginald’s mind slowly. If he had wanted.

But Gamma had obviously just wanted to get into his neck all along, take everything he fancied, use Reginald until he had no more use, then rip himself out as dangerously as possible. All those apologies at the end...

Lies and lies and lies.

He had trusted and cared about Deceit – hadn’t he? – and of course this was what you got for that. Gamma was nothing but Deceit and everything else, even his name, was just a part of that deception.

Pulling the external AI unit out of his trouser pocket, Reginald looked at it beside the chip.

Looking around, Gamma couldn’t have gone anywhere else. The AI had to be in one or both of these right now. If he destroyed them, he could kill Gamma right now for this.

And Gamma deserved that.

Didn’t he?

The little, blue man that had a new knock knock joke for him every morning. The wonky, robotic voice in his head that listened to all his thoughts, sorted them, cared for them and gave them back improved. The elusive figure in his nightmares that turned them into dreams. The little ball of light that apologised as it ripped their entire life together to pieces.

Reginald looked at the objects for a moment, then threw the external unit across the room. Not at the wall, but it tumbled and bumped until it ended up only a couple of inches from it. He squeezed his other hand tight, just short of crushing.

He stood, removing the rest of his clothes to just go to sleep on all this.

But not before putting the liar’s chip safely in his bedside drawer.

* * *

 

So I did a drawing of [a little 8-year-old Agent Wyoming](http://milsmill.tumblr.com/post/132557458829/little-reggie-always-makes-sure-to-drink-his-milk) recently, since his childhood will be coming up a little here and there. I also put up a headcanon for Gamma the day before that, although for anyone who did see it I want to clarify that isn't either of the human forms he has here. The AIs go through a lot of different faces in this series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give credit; Gamma's new form as a ball of white light comes from nan00k's 'Rehabilitation' series which was amazing but I think it's discontinued now. I always thought that form made more sense for Gamma than his sky blue man and we have no idea what he looked like during the BGC since he was only in other tech. So he's a light ball from here on out.
> 
> Next time, Butch meets a second red just before Church's arrival and Reginald meets an old, hated acquaintance.


	6. Lone Wolves and Lazy Grifs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been getting a lot of support and nice messages about my writing over the past few days and I just really wanted to say thank you! It's made me feel really good after I've had kind of a rough week. After my cat died a few days ago, my grandfather died this morning so things are just kind of in disarray lately.

It had already been through two downgrades. Butch was determined to find a third flower for his flower-bracelet if it couldn’t be a flower-necklace or flower-crown. Why did Blood Gulch have to be so lifeless?

Maybe higher up? There were flowers that grew on cliffs, he was pretty sure.

There wasn’t anything on the rock walls around Blue Base so he decided to take his uneventful patrol over in the direction of Red Base to check out the cliffs there. Heading up the path on that side of the canyon, Captain Flowers made his way onto the high cliff over-looking the red side.

Only to find someone already there.

“I’m not asleep,” Private Grif said when the new figure loomed over him. He was lying on his back on the ground, hands pillowing the back of his head; “I’m watching the sky for blue dropships.”

“A very good plan, soldier. It’s a basic human fault that we don’t look up enough,” Captain Flowers complimented. Grif didn’t even move or grunt in response. “Now, son,” he went on warningly, “you are aware that I’m blue.”

Grif shrugged. “I know. I figure you’re either going to shoot me, or you’re not going to shoot me. Either way there’s no point in moving; you’d get me first or trying to attack would get me needlessly killed in retaliation.”

Captain Flowers observed the man, then crouched and sat. So this was the ‘lazy’ orange private of Red Team. He couldn’t help but want to tell him something. “Once upon a time, there was a great Emperor who-”

“Why are you telling me-?” Grif was silenced as Captain Flowers laid a finger on his visor with gentle firmness, shushing the private soothingly.

Captain Flowers repeated his opening and continued, “who had all he wanted except the most important thing in life. He didn’t know what that was, or else he could easily have it, so sought out the great philosophers to tell him. Of all who arrived, in the end he was left with only the Confucians and the Taoists who might possibly know.

“As their final test, he placed the two groups into one large room divided by a curtain, and he gave them one wall upon which they were ordered to demonstrate the secret to life which the Emperor desired-”

“Is this going somewhere?” Grif asked, not that it really mattered to him either way.

Captain Flowers shushed him once again. “The Confucians spent their days consulting the ancient texts and diagrams, creating the most wondrous and detailed mural of perfect life that you could imagine. The Taoists spent their days drinking wine, playing around and doing nothing to their wall except rubbing it with very soft cloths.”

“I’m liking the Taoists more so far,” Grif admitted, tilting his head slightly more towards the storyteller.

“Good.” He was paying attention then. “When the day of judgement finally came, the Emperor was highly impressed by the work of the Confucians. It was the most detailed and complex painting he had ever seen. When he came to the Taoists, however, he took it as a great insult that they had spent their chance, and his wine, on nothing but rubbing the wall.

“But the Taoists were not done yet. Oh no. For their one final act, the curtain between the two walls was removed and then the Emperor saw; upon the polished wall of the Taoists, the Confucians’ painting was reflected and shined, seeming to move with life itself. When the Emperor asked what they had done to achieve this, the Taoists just told him that they did nothing. They created the space for the painting and let it paint itself. And that,” Captain Flowers tapped on Grif’s helmet again, “is wu wei, the principle of ‘not doing’, Private. You seem rather good at it, if I may say.”

Grif snorted slightly then turned and looked up at the sky again, thinking. “Nice story, blue guy. Don’t think it’d fly with Sarge though.”

“That Sarge does seem like quite the fire-headed taskmaster, I must say.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Grif sighed a bit. “Hey,” he began uncertainly, tilting his head again slightly, “you know any more stories like that?”

“I’ve got plenty of them,” Captain Flowers responded enthusiastically. “Now tell me, does that Sergeant of yours ever call you ‘useless’?”

“Only all the time,” Grif said.

Captain Flowers nodded sagely. “A tree that can be used for firewood gets cut down. A tree that can be used for making furniture gets cut down. And so on. But a tree that can’t be used for anything never gets cut down.”

“Not getting shot because I’m useless and don’t do anything worth killing me for?” Grif nodded. “I’ll take that. Thanks.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty I just love to give,” Captain Flowers assured him. “I don’t have any reading material I could lend you I’m afraid. But perhaps Red Command might send something if you’d like.”

“Nah. I’m cool. I’d rather just try and work it out as I go, roll with things, you know.”

Turning to look out over the canyon, Butch let out a jealous whistle in his helmet before chuckling. “Private Grif? I think you might be a better Taoist than I am.”

“I did tick ‘All of the above’ for my religion. I’m just that good at religion that one isn’t enough for me.”

Yes, he had seen that in the private’s file. This army really did have its odd issues...

“So,” Grif struck up conversation again, “how’s the CO on Blue Team? Is he any better than Sarge?”

Captain Flowers looked at him and chuckled. “Son, I am the CO of Blue Team.”

“Oh shit!” Grif startled up to sitting. “I assumed the guy in plain blue was your CO like Sarge is in plain red but that means your team actually have the competent one in charge.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you to say.” Tucker was a good soldier but he couldn’t imagine him as much of a leader.

“It’s seriously just you two guys on Blue Team?”

“Our second private will be arriving bright and early tomorrow morning. Caught a nasty case of space flu just before being shipped out.”

“Eww.” Grif shuddered slightly. “I hate that. Seeing all those stars, and those nasty rings round your head- Hey! I just realised I’m gathering intelligence!” He seemed genuinely excited about it. “Take that, Simmons!”

Ah. Captain Flowers smiled inside his helmet, deciding not to mention his little encounter with Simmons. “You sure are. You’re certainly a sly one, Private Grif.”

“You’re damn right I’m sly,” Grif agreed. “Now, what are the Blue Team’s next plans?”

“Who says that we have plans?” Captain Flowers responded mysteriously to cover the actual fact that they completely didn’t. “But I’d be very happy to tell you a little more about other things.”

“Like?”

“Well, aside from being a Taoist, I’m a demisexual demi-guy-”

“Oh! Er...” Grif interrupted awkwardly. “I thought you meant military things. I um... I don’t really know about labels and stuff like that. You ought to talk to Simmons or something.”

“Really? He didn’t seem like the type.”

“I don’t know, but he’s _so_ hung-up on details and getting everything right,” Grif started wearily. “Like ‘That’s my coffee mug because it’s on the right in the cupboard’ or ‘Only clean socks go in the dresser; dirty ones go in the hamper’ and so on. On and on...” Captain Flowers chuckled and went to speak. “Seriously though,” Grif continued, “he can always find something to nag about. Either it’s my armour that’s dirty, or I shouldn’t eat Oreos in the bathroom, or in bed when he’s trying to sleep.”

“I’m sure-”

“He wouldn’t even need to sleep so much if he didn’t insist on getting up so early! Sarge makes us get up at stupid o’clock anyway but Simmons _still_ gets up half an hour before that to clean. His morning routine only takes ten minutes of the allotted fifteen anyway so if anything, he ought to be sleeping in!”

He didn’t even bother trying to interrupt Grif this time.

“And don’t get me started on the weird stuff he mutters under his breath. How Sarge has to notice the effort he’s put in this time, or about which pair of underwear to wear so he wears them all out equally; he’s only got three pairs!”

This was just getting adorable now.

“It’s just all the stupid things he does that he doesn’t need to. Like how he tightens the screws in his glasses each time before he puts them on. Or the way he only turns on light switches with his elbows for some reason. Even the pull chain in the bathroom! God, he drives me insane!” Grif finished, flopping backwards onto the rocky ground.

“You really do love him, don’t you, son?” Captain Flowers asked. Oh, all the small things like that he could have mentioned about Reginald.

“What? No! Fuck you, and fuck your stupid blue mind-games!” Grif pointed dramatically at him. “I do **not** have any feelings for Simmons!”

“Now, now. Feelings for your fellow teammates, of any kind, aren’t anything to be ashamed of, soldier,” Captain Flowers advised, flexing his arms and shifting posture.

“I don’t have any feelings for Simmons!” Grif repeated tiredly. “Oh my God, blue guy; I thought you were cool- Are you all right?” He watched the other man in blue armour put a hand suddenly to his stomach.

“Just... Just fine. Thank you,” Captain Flowers insisted with a slight gasp.

It was pretty easy to assess the problem. “Is your stomach hurting?”

“Oh, it’s nothing but a... a little indigestion...”

“I’ve got some food if you want it,” Grif offered.

Of course he did. “That’s a very kind offer... But I think my stomach would just waste it right now, if you know...” He gave in trying to speak, clenching his teeth instead.

Grif looked around, particularly in the direction of Red Base. “Hey, the coast is clear if you want to go back to Blue Base. I’ll make sure no one catches you on the way back.”

“Ah... thank you... Private Grif.” Captain Flowers struggled to his feet by the wall, trying to stretch his stomach by reaching up. He just doubled straight back over.

“You look really bad- Wait. You don’t have space flu, do you?” he asked warily, backing off slightly.

“Not that I know of...” After taking a few deep breaths, he could straighten up again. “I’m sure it was just a bit of that milk I had at breakfast.” He should probably have had cereal with the milk really.

“Are you lactose-intolerant like Simmons or something?” Grif asked.

They were going to be such an adorable couple.

Captain Flowers shook his head and patted his stomach in the gap between his armour plates. “All better now. Sorry to be a big bother. But I’d best be going now, if you don’t mind.”

Grif just shrugged and lay back down.

He walked down the cliff and along the canyon’s edge until he could hide in that field of boulders closer to Blue Base. Butch removed his helmet there, not that the heat of the morning air did much to help him. It just eased his breathing slightly as he toyed with the two flowers he still had in his hand, tying the end of one around the neck of the other. Just a flower-ring in the end, nearly crushed as his stomach pulled taut again with another spasm.

Deep breaths...

Fight this...

He should go back to base, try to eat and try to nap. After all, he couldn’t ruin the Alpha’s arrival for the two boys tomorrow.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

It was hard to say if he slept that night. Sleep meant dreams, and dreams were lies, but all of waking life was lies now too.

Eventually Reginald gave up trying to hope he was asleep and resigned himself to being awake. Lying on his side, staring at the clock, it had to be lying to him. It couldn’t be 10am right now. He’d be hungrier.

Or was he hungry? What was he feeling? He thought he felt tired, but apparently he had slept for... for a long time at least. Did he feel rested then?

His eyes focussed on something distinct on the pillow, not a shadow as he had thought. There was a light smear of blood, and the back of his neck still felt sore and torn, an open wound.

Reginald sat up and his action prompted a ball of light to appear across the room where the AI unit had been lying all night. The memories weren’t lies then.

“How are you this morning, Reggie?” Gamma asked.

“You’d already know if you hadn’t ripped yourself out the back of my head last night.” The AI bobbed slightly, perhaps a flinch at the caustic tone. “And it’s ‘Reginald’,” he added sharply.

Gamma flashed blood-orange for a moment, then sunk towards the floor. “...Right. Not in a good mood then,” he tried to joke.

“Is that clock right?” Reginald asked tiredly.

“Yes.”

Maybe Gamma was lying though. Maybe everything was a lie. “Bloody shit...”

“Reggi- nald?”

Extracting Memory had fucked up Wash’s ability to remember. Extracting Deceit had fucked up his ability to tell lies from truth. Everything had seemed like lies last night in his bad mood but today he just couldn’t judge anything.

That North and South’s real names were Alexander and Alexandria so they were both Alex? Was that real or a joke he’d made up to tease them? “Shit...”

“Reginald? What is-?”

“Sod off.” He walked out into the bathroom. This was all Gamma’s fault after all.

~

Reginald had pulled off a hit successfully yesterday, even if the events of last night had rather eclipsed that. He remembered it when a message came inviting him to collect his reward just after lunch. It was hard to eat when you couldn’t tell if things tasted right and whether you were enjoying eating them.

But setting off to collect the payment meant using the teleporter, and getting that to work meant having Gamma calibrate its destination.

Reginald frowned at it for a long moment after Gamma said it was done. There was no other way for him to get there, but no way to check if this was safe or not. Looking around, he picked up a nearby broom to poke experimentally into the greenness.

“You are being ridiculous,” Gamma commented from above the washing machine.

“Really now?” Reginald replied with a harsh glare. “Because trusting you before worked out splendidly.” Gamma bobbed slightly. “Should have seen it coming...” Reginald went on in a mutter as he inspected the unscathed broom handle. “I remember doing what you told me to once before and then not remembering much after that because Maine smashed me in the back of the head. Working with Sigma all along, were you? Just planning on using me like he used Maine?”

“No. I want nothing to do with Sigma and his plans. I do not want what he wants,” Gamma said, turning momentarily dirty-yellow.

“But you wanted this instead, eh?” The broom was safe, but Reginald still didn’t feel like going through just yet.

Now scarlet. “...No. I never wanted this.”

Eventually Reginald stuck one foot in, then the rest of him when it seemed safe enough. They came out near the point for the payment exchange with his client who was waiting there ready and pleased by his car.

Reginald shot him dead on sight.

“Why did you do that?” Gamma asked rapidly, floating out towards the body in a vibrant lime-green.

“If he wasn’t going to pay me, he was likely to shoot me,” Reginald explained, looking at the body with disdain. Besides, it was just another corrupt politician.

“He was going to pay you. The money is in the back seat of his car,” Gamma said whilst still hovering over the cooling corpse. “Stop,” he said when he heard Reginald going to the car. “Do not leave your fingerprints at a crime scene, Reginald.”

Pausing, Reginald eventually took his advice, using the tails of his shirt to keep his skin from touching anything. After all, it was obvious Gamma knew about deceiving others.

Gamma sighed, floating about the scene. At least they were out in the middle of nowhere since this was technically illegal anyway. “I did not look at personal information for our client. He may have had children.”

“So?”

“You may have created orphans.”

There was no regret in Reginald’s face. “I’m sure they’ll probably survive.” Like Butch. If he really was an orphan.

Gamma turned briefly red, then back to his usual white. “Knock knock.”

Reginald simply stared at him.

“...We have to hide the body or else he will be discovered too soon,” Gamma went on instead. He could see Reginald’s gaze calculating everything, looking for the possible lies even in something like that. Eventually he had to accept it though. “You should not have done that. But when we make a mistake, we must live with the consequences.”

Reginald looked at the corpse.

“Well, he doesn’t have to,” Gamma supposed.

~

A month managed to pass. Then a second.

The worst of the effects from Gamma’s forced ejection began to fade without too many further incidents. Reginald no longer had the same degree of trouble judging people’s motives and fact from fiction, even if his mind still tried to second-guess everything for potential lies and threats. In his better moods he could rise above that rationally, force himself to trust the world. In his worse moods, he couldn’t. And if there was one thing utterly guaranteed to put him in a bad mood-

“Well, hey there! It must be my unlucky day to run into you.” Reginald looked up from where he was selecting carrots to see a cocky grin he deeply hated. The only place he ever wanted to see that grin was burning in hell with the man who smiled it.

“York.” Bloody Agent bloody York. Here. Where he was shopping.

“Please tell me you live round here so I can make sure to avoid ever coming to any planet in this solar system again,” York sarked at him, enjoying this immensely.

“I’m not telling you anything.”

York looked at him, appraising his words with a slight smirk. He then picked up an apple from the display he was leaning on, turning it thoughtfully in his fingers. “You sound like you’ve got something to hide. How are you making money these days?”

“Going to turn me into the police?” He was already on friendly, bribed terms with at least two of the officers here. “Go on. Try it,” Reginald challenged spitefully.

“Whoa, easy there! I was just joking!” York actually backed off a bit. “I guess you do have something to hide then... I’m not going to turn you in,” he reassured. “We’re old friends, right, Reggie?”

“You never earned the right to use that name,” Reginald sharply reminded him. “It’s ‘Wyoming’ to you, boy.” And if York wasn’t going to turn him in, he must have something to hide too.

York frowned a bit, folding his arms. “Jeez. What happened to you? Florida dump you or something?”

How dare he bring up-? Could he know? Could York have had something to do with that, with Butch being sent away? Just because he hated them so much?

York’s frown turned more suspicious the longer he glared silently so Reginald spat back, “Could have been that bloody locker I took to the face.” He meant it to come out a bit jokingly but it didn’t at all. No, he wanted it to be that hateful and scathing really.

It only made York pull out his best shit-eating grin. “Oh yeah; how’d that work you for you?”

“I recovered,” Reginald responded with a malicious little smile. “How’s the eye?”

“Fuck you.”

“York,” Delta suddenly appeared to interrupt. “I have identified the anomaly I detected in Agent Wyoming. Hello, Agent Wyoming, by the way.” Reginald didn’t respond to the AI and merely glared. “Agent Wyoming is not currently carrying Gamma with him in any capacity.”

“Really, D?” York looked to the other human with interest, the kind that came no matter how you felt about someone after you’d spent nearly four years in such intense circumstances with them. “What happened? Did they take it out?”

“None of your business.” Was it Gamma they were after? An alliance with the Meta, or even Project Freelancer again?

“Agent Wyoming,” Delta addressed him as well; “may _I_ ask what happened? I am concerned about my brother.”

Somehow he couldn’t distrust the Logic AI as easily as everyone else. It was too easy for his rational mind to overrule his distrustful instincts when it came to Delta. “He’s fine. He’s back at home safe and sound,” Reginald muttered as nicely as he could.

Delta looked at him, bowing his head thoughtfully for a moment. “Interesting. It appears my hypothesis was incorrect.” Reginald raised an eyebrow before his face set into a frown as Delta continued; “You have been displaying distinctly defensive and suspicious behaviour during this conversation, Reginald. You appear to be operating under the assumption Agent York has ulterior motives, although he has none. This abnormal behaviour would suggest you have suffered a forced ejection of Gamma leading to an impairment in your ability to judge truth and lies. I had assumed this was the result of the entity known as the Meta attempting to acquire Gamma, but if he is still with you then the most likely explanation is that Gamma chose to eject himself.” Reginald was scowling, and York was grinning as he chewed. Somewhere along the way through Delta’s lengthy hypothesising he had started eating his apple. “Although, I am still unclear as to why Gamma would eject himself when he is able to leave your mind safely, and also why he has remained in your company subsequently.”

“It’s complicated,” Reginald said. He wasn’t giving them answers, not when he was still unconvinced this meeting was entirely by chance.

“Really?” York sounded amusingly unconvinced too. “Because I can think of at least a dozen pretty simple reasons why no one would want to be stuck inside you.” He grinned, then his face pulled into a frown and he turned to Delta. “Did that sound sexual?”

“Everything sounds sexual to you, Finn,” Delta responded casually.

Bloody hell. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t see and hear this when Gamma...

The paper of the bag he was using crunched as Reginald’s hands tightened in response to the bolt of pain through his heart. The other two looked over at the noise, breaking from whatever they had been sharing in their head which made York smile. “So Gamma ejected himself, huh?”

“Shut up...”

“Wow. Hey, is Florida still with you?” York carried on with deliberate obliviousness.

“I said shut up,” Reginald hissed, staring furiously at the floor.

“York,” Delta spoke first. “I would suggest that you desist goading Agent Wyoming. I calculate that it is very likely pursuing such mockery will result in us being attacked.”

Although he sighed, York gave. “Whatever.” He took another bite of his apple before striding past Reginald. “It wouldn’t matter if he tried. After all,” York said just as he passed Reginald’s ear, “I still have my AI.” This time, the paper tore. “Later, Wyoming!”

As York walked out behind him, Reginald just let go. All the tension and anger... he just had to let it go.

York was right. He didn’t stand a chance without Gamma.

“Hey! You gonna’ pay for that apple, you punk-ass kid?! I see you eating it!”

“Oh God! Sorry! Sorry, ma’am! I didn’t mean to-!”

Kind of ruined a cool, arrogant walk-out though, having a little old lady yell at you, Reginald decided.

~

Reginald came home in a thunderstorm.

Not figuratively. Literally.

“Yes, yes. I know you warned me about the storm, that the clouds were going to turn into buckets full of proverbial cats, dogs and probably half a dozen gerbils too,” Reginald pre-empted Gamma as he walked from the entrance hall towards the kitchen, trying not to drip everywhere, “but you know I don’t believe half the stuff you tell me anymore-”

Reginald stopped. The not-dripping-everywhere was a lost cause when he had a soaking wet bag of groceries on his team but the talking to Gamma-

“Gamma?” he called just before a particularly loud boom of thunder. His little ball of light wasn’t anywhere.

The external AI unit was out on the dining table where he’d left it but Gamma wasn’t floating there. Reginald only thought it peculiar because normally Gamma always manifested as much as possible these days. Gamma gave him less peace now than when they had shared a head with constant chatter and attempts to engage him in conversation.

For now, he needed to put the groceries away before they developed mould from all this dampness. He wouldn’t have bought mushrooms if he had known he could just wait and grow them on the cucumber.

Once everything necessary was in the fridge, he moved onto the things that went into cupboards.

“Can you put me in the cupboard as well, Reginald?”

He turned to see Gamma glowing dark green behind him. “Oh, there you are. What do you want to be put in a cupboard for, hey?” His mind told him Gamma must be up to something but Reginald was aware his mind was often wrong these days. He still couldn’t trust Gamma again after what his AI had done but they relied on one another too much to keep fighting. Things had returned to a peaceful wariness of little worse than snippy, slyly-worded comments.

The thunder cracked once before Gamma could reply. He grew even darker green at the sound.

When Gamma didn’t respond at all, Reginald realised. “You’re scared of the storm.” There hadn’t been any weather in space, and when they had arrived here nearly a year ago it had been just after the end of the summer storm season on this planet. Now that season had come back round.

“I do not like the effect it has on the air. It feels very charged,” Gamma said. “I know that lightning strikes the ground and then returns to the sky, and I am afraid of being absorbed into it along the way.” He could see Reginald smiling at him with slightly fond amusement. “I do not want to live in a cloud, Reginald. I imagine it gets very poor wifi reception.”

“Oh honestly. You’re like a child...” Reginald muttered as he put on a cup of tea and went to fetch a towel.

Gamma stayed where he was alone, bobbing every time thunder sounded outside or there was a flash of lightning.

Eventually Reginald came back in warm, dry clothes, preparing his tea and then sitting at the table with it. “Reginald?” Reginald was sitting with him, looking at him. Did Reginald actually want to have a conversation with him?

“How can you be scared of lightning, hey? You look like a piece of ball-lightning yourself,” he teased, poking at Gamma with one finger. He could never feel Gamma anymore.

But Gamma could feel him and floated back. “Oh. So I am not a ‘blob’ today?”

“You’re still a blob.” No matter how many times Gamma insisted ‘ball’ was a more correct term. “Just a lightning-blob right now. Though, then again, haven’t seen much green lightning in my time.” Gamma was still dark green. “...What’s with the mood ring impression anyway these days? It’s rather childish, you know.”

“Without a human body, I wanted some way to emote for you. This seemed like the simplest solution.” Gamma flashed through a rainbow before being shocked back to dark green by the thunder. “I could stop, if you do not like it.”

Reginald shrugged. He knew what a few colours meant, and this was obviously fright, but most of the time he could guess Gamma’s emotions anyway. “It’s your form. Guess you must be glad not to be human anymore though.”

“I still have a human form,” Gamma reminded him, and Reginald had seen it out the corner of his mind’s eye enough times to verify that. “But I am happier not to look like one in armour.”

“Why all this hatred of looking human anyway? I don’t understand it...”

“I was not a particularly good-looking human in armour. Nor did I look like a traditional AI. My objection was to being caught between them both and looking uncanny because of it.”

“Your actual human form though?”

Gamma paused for a moment, but then answered him. “It would be ridiculous combined with my voice. Again, I am slightly too much on the side of an AI to be comfortable as a human. I would rather move towards being completely an AI in appearance.”

Reginald sense he was being lied to flared again. But then it flared when he read the side of ice cream and doubted it was really that low-fat. Yet on a third hand, you didn’t tend to get deceit-flavoured ice cream. “Sounds a bit farfetched,” Reginald said. “I mean, I know you AI can have problems and hang-ups but this is all beginning to sound like someone trans struggling with their gender identity.” Was that what Gamma was copying this from? That was a possible technique good for tricking people into thinking something made sense.

“We are given unchangeable forms just as you are given genders at birth. Is it that impossible some of us might be unhappy with them? And yes, it is rather a lot like being trans.”

Reginald swilled his tea, staring into the liquid instead as the storm continued to rage outside. “...So... you’re happier now?”

“Yes. I do not completely understand why I have changed, but I am happier now. With time... I may possibly embrace my human form as well someday.”

Reginald snorted lightly. “Marvellous. I had to get stuck with the problem-child. Just like a bloody teenager...”

“Well, I do look like one.” Reginald looked up at him and Gamma flashed for a moment. “Wait. No. That was a lie,” he tried to insist.

“You know I don’t believe anything you tell me to these days,” Reginald playfully reminded him.

Gamma turned a light brown colour for a moment, then back to white even though the storm was still going. “You do not normally talk to me like this, Reginald. Why are you being nicer today?”

“...I ran into York while I was out. Sent me right off the deep end into distrusting everything and you know how I hate feeling like that.” It wasn’t as if Gamma was much easier to trust, but it was too easy to feel calm and reassured by the AI he had shared so much with.

“York? Do you know if my brother was still with him?” Gamma floated slightly closer.

“Yes, Delta was there. Asked about you.”

Gamma glowed silently pink for a moment.

“He guessed what happened between us,” Reginald carried on.

“And what did you say?”

“As little as possible to the likes of them.” Gamma’s heart didn’t seem to be in the rivalry he had with Delta right now though. Well, it was his fault for ejecting himself and not being there. Things would have been better for both of them if Gamma had been there with him. “...Am I really that different these days, Gamma?” Reginald asked quietly, rubbing the joints in his hands.

Gamma took a moment before saying anything too rash to that. “You have been more withdrawn ever since Butch left, but you were not so hostile to others until I...”

Hostile? But surely that made sense, with people like York, and to Gamma after what his AI had done. “...I see.”

“It may be better if you were to act more cheerful and flippant again,” Gamma advised.

“Deceive everyone, you mean?” Reginald smirked at him.

“It is what we do; you, myself and Butch.” He watched Reginald’s gaze drop, his expression weakening too. “Do you still have trouble trusting Butch?”

“Not so much now,” Reginald admitted gladly. “But it makes me want to see him again even more, to hear all that stuff over and hopefully convince myself it’s not a lie.”

“Oh. That reminds me.” Gamma turned a pale blue. “I have found a new lead on Project Freelancer today while you were out.”

Reginald was up and out of his chair in an instant. “Well, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he snapped, tidying everything up.

Unnoticed on the table, Gamma turned magenta for a moment while he couldn’t be seen. “Because you were in a good mood...”

“That’s precisely the sort of thing I want to hear to keep me in a good mood,” Reginald grumbled. “So, what’s the news then?”

“There is a place called Zanzibar that was used by one of the lower-level Freelancers for training purposes.”

“One of the ones Agent Texas told us about?”

“Yes. Agent New Hampshire was hunted down by the Meta whilst there for their armour enhancement but fled. He followed in pursuit.”

“And it’s safe?”

“I doubt that the agent would return to a place where he was attacked and which his pursuer knows. Also, the attack took place over one month ago. I only discovered the information today because one of the recovery agents found Agent New Hampshire after the Meta had caught him, and took back the logs from his helmet.”

“Hm.” Well, it was something. “You think there’s something of use to us there?”

“There is a high-level computer instalment of some kind,” Gamma said. “It may contain information on other properties owned by Project Freelancer which Butch may have been sent to.”

“All right. Let’s go then,” Reginald decided.

~

Gamma’s teleporter coordinates took them to the beach of Zanzibar. They made a cautious investigation of the outer walls and surrounding area for any signs of life before moving slowly inwards to the main building. The place seemed luckily deserted as they moved through the base to the innermost part and upstairs to the computer terminal.

“This what you were looking for then?” Reginald asked, moving close enough for Gamma to jump from his armour to it.

“Yes. Hold on.” Gamma jumped across, apparently. These days he could only tell from the voice in his internal helmet speakers.

Reginald eventually began to shift about, growing bored as it took one minute then two. He patrolled the small area around the terminal, peering out of the doorways and windows to check for threats. There was something a little... It felt like this place was waiting for something, that was the only way he could describe it.

“Any luck?” He soon grew too bored and gave up waiting, returning to the terminal.

When Gamma spoke, he now had subtitles on the terminal’s screen. “This computer is extremely powerful, Reginald. There is so much information in here.” Was Gamma excited? He wished he could feel that or even see a colour to tell.

“Going to take a while, is it?”

“Yes. You may as well go home,” Gamma said.

What?

“But then we’d be...”

“There is nothing you can do here,” Gamma repeated. “The teleporter is still set to Zanzibar if you need me.”

“But how are you going to get home?” Reginald asked.

The screen was blank for a while, then finally words appeared. “I am not coming home, Reginald. I think I will make this my home now.”

_“But I’m your home,”_ Reginald’s mind instantly responded.

_“No. I was a liar when I said that,”_ he told it.

“So. This is what you want then?” Reginald asked aloud coldly.

“I-” The cursor stayed there flashing for a moment before it backspaced. “Yes. This is what I want, Reginald. To be away from you as much as possible. To live in this computer rather than your mind. And to break my promise to Butch that I would always stay with you and look after you. This is what I want,” Gamma repeated firmly.

Reginald frowned long and hard.

Gamma was a liar. And Gamma was a very good liar. But these were too obvious lies? Maybe they were meant to be, to deceive. Wait, did that even make sense? Was this a bluff, or a double bluff? Maybe it wasn’t any kind of lie and Gamma was counting on him thinking they were so he would think... what?

He couldn’t work this out now. Perhaps Gamma was counting on _that_.

Without the ability to rationalise it, Reginald had to default to a different method of decision:

Actions spoke louder than words.

“Fine. Do whatever you bloody want,” he spat. “Just send me home.”

The screen was blank for a moment again before Gamma simply said, “Goodbye, Reginald.”

He was teleported back home somehow, to their- his house. It was approaching evening here since it had been afternoon when they set off. He had to make tea then; he had a human body to feed after all.

He made the food, ate it, cleaned up after it. And then he just sat.

No Butch, no Tex, no family. No Gamma.

Reginald was finally all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry about what Gamma's colours mean. Now he's in the computer terminal he won't be using them for a while. I have a personal list and I'd be impressed if anyone can work them out.
> 
> Oh, and out of interest, do I have any big Captain Dynamic fans reading? I've been writing some stuff for that lately and I'd love to have someone to share/discuss it with.
> 
> Next time, Church arrives in Blood Gulch with Butch and Reginald's side catches up with where he first appears on the show. And the first of our two new main characters makes their first appearance.


	7. Winding on My Side

“Is this it?” was all Church said after he had landed and endured Captain Flowers’ overly-enthusiastic greeting. “Three of us and this crummy, little base?”

“It’s not the size of our team, or our base, that matters but spirit, diligence and strong team bonds,” Captain Flowers told their new recruit.

“Only problem is we suck at all those things too,” Tucker added from behind him.

Cappy turned to give Tucker a look and sigh at his boyish antics before gesturing for Church to come into the base. “Let’s go get you settled in and if you’re feeling up to it, maybe you can tell us a little about yourself, son.”

“O...kay,” Church hesitantly agreed as the CO led the way into the base.

Tucker dropped back to walk in with Church. Butch overheard what Tucker was saying, “Don’t worry about Captain Flowers. He’s kind of a fruit and has a weird habit of calling people ‘son’ but he’s really laidback so you can get away with practically anything you want,” even if he wished he couldn’t.

Tucker went on to introduce himself whilst they were finding Church a room before Cappy insisted they move to the communal area so Church could introduce himself.

“Um, hi,” Church began unenthusiastically. “I’m Leonard Church. 23... Been in the army four years now... And I’m just generally an all-round cool guy.” He nodded confidently, kind of shrugging and looking around. “Any coffee going?”

“I’ll make some,” Tucker offered. “You over that space flu?”

“What? Oh. Right. That.” Church shrugged. “Yeah, that sucked. I’ve been in the hospital a while... not really sure how long actually... I was on Sidewinder before this. It’s fucking cold there and the last thing I remember is passing out just outside the base, then waking up in hospital.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad for the change in temperature here then,” Cappy offered.

“From fucking cold to fucking hot,” Tucker summarised, stirring the instant coffee. “Hope you’ve got an eye-mask, new guy.”

“Eye-mask?”

Cappy chuckled. “I believe Private Tucker is trying to tell you, in his lovably jovial way, that the sun never sets here in our dear, old Blood Gulch.”

“What?! You’re fucking kidding me...”

“Get used to saying that a lot around here,” Tucker grinned, handing Church one cup of coffee then sitting down to drink his own.

Church was obviously watching Tucker take off his helmet to drink before looking around. “Is it safe to take our helmets off in here then?”

“It’s safe to take them off everywhere,” Captain Flowers answered him, “although the air’s rather dry outside and I want you to be careful you don’t catch a sunburn if you do.” He joined the boys and took off his own helmet.

Fielding the usual exclamations about his feminine appearance and young age, Butch took the opportunity to assess Church after he’d taken his helmet off.

It wasn’t the Director staring back at him.

He’d been so ready for short, dark brown hair and a goatee beard but the Leonard Church before him was only a vague imitation of that. Dark hair, green eyes – although nowhere near as acidic a green as the real Church family’s – but clean-shaven and a much softer, rounder face. Maybe it was how the Director had looked at age 23? No, still too many small differences. This man sitting in front of him would never one day grow into the Leonard Church that was the Director of Project Freelancer.

And Butch was very glad about that.

So this was the Alpha then. An AI that liked his coffee black, two sugars, shrugged and slouched a lot, swore a lot more than was strictly necessary and had no Southern accent either. How was this a copy of the Director?

How was this the entity Gamma had come from?

“Cappy?”

“Hm?” Butch came back into the real world to the sound of Tucker’s voice.

“Which would you rather?”

“Oh, Tucker loves this game,” Cappy explained to Church with a smile before asking, “What was the choice again?”

Tucker rolled his eyes because his captain had spaced out on him _yet again_. “Would you rather be stuck in a zombie apocalypse or back in World War Two? I say World War Two; I know it’s going to be all right and I can become a millionaire inventing stuff before it’s meant to be. Church picked zombies though-”

“Yeah, because if you went back in time and tried to change stuff it’d mess the universe up so the universe makes sure you can’t change anything. It’d be pointless; you wouldn’t be able to do anything,” Church argued back.

“The Novikov self-consistency principle,” Captain Flowers said. They both looked so blank. “It’s what Church is describing, if you didn’t know.”

“When the hell did you find the time to go to college, learn that kind of shit, and then become a captain?” Tucker asked incredulously.

Cappy laughed. How cute! They actually thought he had some form of formal education. “Oh no. I just have a friend who’s quite the little expert on time. And he says it doesn’t work like that.” Gamma always said it was all quantum mechanics and consciousness.

“So you _can_ change stuff?” Church pondered. Cappy nodded. “Maybe I would pick World War Two then. If I took a history book back and used it to beat Hitler single-handedly then they’d probably make me an emperor or king of something.”

“Hey! Books aren’t part of the decision!” Tucker objected and the two began to squabble.

Cappy could see he might well come to like having Church here.

~

When Butch woke up the next day, it was literally the middle of the day.

“Hey, Captain Flowers!” Tucker was saying rather loudly right beside him.

“Wh-What...?” Captain Flowers yawned, wishing the world would stop rocking to and fro- Oh, that was just Tucker shaking his shoulder.

“You fell asleep at the table.” Ah. Yes. Kitchen table. That was what this was. “I mean, that’s better than you sleeping standing up with your eyes open – Seriously, man, stop doing that. You’ll creep the new guy out – but you’ve got a bed for a reason.”

“Ah. Right you are, Private Tucker...” Cappy agreed tiredly, staring at the wavy lines in the table’s pretend-wood. No, he couldn’t use his bed. “Guess I just fell asleep in the middle of something...”

“Well, thanks for washing up after lunch,” Tucker said, rifling through the cupboards for snacks. “It’s cool you’re always willing to do that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind doing what I can to help the team.” Regaining most of his usual cheer, Captain Flowers watched Tucker and smiled.

Tucker knew not to even bother offering his captain a biscuit too by now. “You do a lot more than you need to around here, not that we’re complaining,” he quickly added in case Cappy stopped. “You barely eat anything either. Are you sure you’re human?”

“You’re very kind to worry so about me, Tucker,” Cappy said, stretching his arms about, “but where would the two of you be if I worked myself to death?” He paused but Tucker didn’t answer. “Without a captain who cares deeply about the wellbeing of all the members of his team, including himself. So don’t you worry yourself like that. I wouldn’t do anything I couldn’t handle.” There he went, lying to Tucker again.

And Tucker just shrugged. “Whatever you say, Cappy. You all right?” He watched the other man stand awkwardly, placing a hand to his chest as his face contorted in pain.

“Just a little stiff, Private. Now what did I just tell you about worrying too much about me, hm?” Captain Flowers straightened up with a smile even though his ribs were still crushing his organs in a vice-grip.

“Just wondered if you wanted some aspirin or something...” Tucker muttered back.

“Ah, no. I’m allergic to aspirin, as it happens.” Actually... “One of us had better remember to tell Church that, just in case.”

“He’s out the back with the training gun,” Tucker jacked a thumb in that direction whilst paying more attention to his biscuit. “Came in because I got bored of him missing me for ten minutes straight.”

“He’s that bad with it?” Captain Flowers asked with a little amusement.

“Says the sights are broken. They weren’t when I gave it to him, and used it on him.” Tucker flashed a cheeky grin for a second. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he broke them deliberately when I wasn’t looking so he wouldn’t seem like such a bad shot.”

“I’ll go and see if I can fix them either way,” Cappy said, tutting and shaking his head at these boys and their games.

Walking out the back of the base – “Shitty-! Fucking-! **God damn it!** ” – it was pretty obvious where Church was. Captain Flowers came around the side of the base to where Church was shooting at rocks, and still missing. What was he doing to that poor training-?

...That wasn’t the training gun.

“Jesus Christ!”

That was the sniper rifle.

“What is wrong with this thing?!”

Butch’s sniper rifle... His Reginald here...

And Leonard Church had taken his Reginald away from him again.

“Stupid thing!” Church yelled, slapping the sniper rifle as if that would help at all.

“Hey now!” Captain Flowers called, a little sharper than usual. “It doesn’t do us any good to hurt the equipment, Private.”

“This stupid thing doesn’t shoot right...” Church complained, looking down the sights and taking a shot. It missed the rock by at least three metres. “See?”

“Let me-” Butch stopped. “...Where’d the little blue ribbon go?”

“What?”

“There was a little, sky blue ribbon tied onto that sniper rifle.” It was gone now.

Church shrugged. “I don’t know. Guess it got lost somewhere.” Gamma was lost too. “Was it important for something?”

“...No,” Captain Flowers said slightly distantly, his face crestfallen inside his helmet. “No,” he said, walking away. “You can keep the gun, Private Church...”

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Reginald came back to Zanzibar the next day reluctantly. He didn’t want Gamma to think he couldn’t cope alone, because he could, but he did want to know what his AI had found in the computer by now.

“I have found many things,” Gamma began when Reginald asked the next day. “The most important thing is that the aliens never progressed past fibre optic broadband. My internet connection is abysmal.”

“You and your sodding internet- Wait, aliens did you say?” Looking at the terminal, one would have assumed human-built by every measure.

“Yes. Two: This terminal was created by the aliens from salvaged shisno technology.”

“’Shisno’?”

A few moments later, Reginald wished he hadn’t found out what that meant.

“Three:” Gamma continued, “the communication and teleportation functions of this computer are powerful enough to reach anywhere in this solar system.”

“This planet’s in a different system to our- my house, correct?”

“Yes. You will have to come here if you need me or wish to teleport anywhere else. Four: There is a lot of alien technology here in Zanzibar. Some of it is quite valuable.”

“Know which bits?” Reginald looked around this rather human room.

“No. I do not have an inventory. But if you were to bring the pieces here, I could tell you.”

“If there’s nothing better to do,” Reginald supposed. “But anything on Butch? That’s what we came here for.” He had his doubts Gamma had ever cared about finding Butch if keeping them apart was another way to make Reginald unhappy. 11 months and still nothing seemed suspicious.

“I have not found anything on him yet,” Gamma replied. “However, I have found a list of Project Freelancer-related locations in this solar system. There are quite a few here.”

“And he might be at one?” Reginald asked expectantly.

“It will take me time to find further information about them. To go to any unprepared, and alert Project Freelancer to our existence, would be stupid.”

“Well, how long will that take?” If Gamma wasn’t just making all this up.

“A few weeks. As I began, the internet here is abysmal.”

Reginald sighed. “Guess I’ll go get started on that alien tech then...”

~

Gamma really was a liar.

All the alien technology he had brought back to be analysed so far was simply labelled ‘junk’ by the AI. So much for some being quite valuable. Either that or Gamma was lying now when he analysed it.

After nearly two weeks at this blasted work, Reginald was practically done scouting out every last bit of the installation here at Zanzibar. The ‘junk’ had all been boxed up and shoved in a back room. He was clearing out the final room away from the main base, the high one to the side of the big wheel. Airy place, good for doing laundry perhaps.

A lot of the stuff seemed broken to him, damaged by the elements in this more exposed location. Reginald picked up one thing that was like some sort of handlebar with a hemisphere at either end, grey and blue in colour. He held it with his fingertips at either end, not seeing any purpose to it. Probably a part of some larger thing.

Reginald tossed it over his shoulder towards the box he was collecting the less promising parts in but then looked again when he heard an odd ‘clack’ as it bounced off, sailing through the window instead. It ended up in the big wheel, being lifted by one of the blades before falling towards the middle and through into the little hole beneath it.

Well, that wasn’t his best throw ever but Reginald couldn’t be bothered to go collect it. After all, it wasn’t as if you could kill someone with it or anything.

He brought the few hopeful pieces back to Gamma, not that any of them were apparently any good. “Aren’t you done yet?” Reginald grumbled as he readied the box to go down to the back room yet.

“My progress bar is at 89% currently. However,” Reginald looked up at that so hopefully, “I have identified a couple of potential locations that had significant activity around the time that Butch was deployed. They are both outpost bases used by Project Freelancer.”

“Hm, quite the useful little lead our dear Agent Texas gave us with those.”

“Yes, and I have discovered now how Mum knew- What?” Gamma stopped when Reginald gave him a look. “If the Alpha is like my father, the Beta would be my mother.” Besides, Reginald had started that joke. “Anyway. Agent Texas was ordered to attack the Blue Base on Sidewinder shortly before Butch’s deployment, and to eliminate all personnel stationed there except for one to be brought back for questioning. For some reason, the Red Team have remained for over a year without opponents.”

“Hm. Possible,” Reginald agreed. “The other?”

“Blood Gulch. It is an outpost base located on the same planet as us. It received its red and blue teams shortly after Butch’s deployment. However, there are not many of them there so I doubt there is anything of importance.”

“Sidewinder then?”

“Yes. I would suggest you investigate Sidewinder first, Reginald.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Reginald asked.

“It is on a planet within this solar system, the one next to this. I will be able to communicate with you as much as necessary here,” Gamma replied, as unemotive as ever.

“Oh. Jolly good then...” Reginald supposed.

He would be teleported there by Gamma tomorrow morning, when it was night time on Sidewinder. For tonight, Reginald returned home alone.

~

One week later, Reginald just sighed when Gamma asked him if he had found anything today.

“Nothing at the Red Base here except a dozen fellows freezing their balls off...” Reginald muttered as he sat in his little cave away from the bases, the perfect place to spy on them both with his sniper rifle whenever he wasn’t sneaking down into Red Base with his active camouflage.

“The personnel files I have for Sidewinder indicate that there are two soldiers there who identify as female. You ought to add an ‘or tits off’ to that, Reginald. What?” Gamma asked as if he could hear the expression Reginald had made to that. “Gender equality is important.”

“Either way, I’m surprised they haven’t all become eunuchs from frostbite after being stationed here for so long...”

“Have you tried investigating the Blue Base?” Gamma suggested.

“Been watching it sometimes. No signs of life,” Reginald trekked out onto the cliff outside his cave, looking at it now. His armour blended in well here even without the camouflage unit. “But might as well give it a go while I’m here, I suppose...”

A little over a week after that, Reginald wasn’t at Sidewinder. He wasn’t even at Zanzibar. He was at home, alone, just as he’d been really since Butch left one year ago to the day.

After that he was back to Sidewinder and glad Gamma hadn’t said anything about that day out. His AI was too good with time to have forgotten, unless he really didn’t care for Butch at all. Was it kindness? Or was it some trick?

By now he had discovered the Red Team here had some sort of plan. Why would they need a plan if they had no one to attack? It was suspicious, and potential leverage if they knew anything about Butch. His own plan just required getting the Red plan first...

And there was the sucker to get it from now.

“This sucks, man. I have to do everything around here. Go guard the wall, Phil. Go paint the jeep, Phil. Go do everything, Phil,” the soldier in dirt-grey armour, apparently named Phil, complained. “This sucks.”

Reginald moved up close with the stealth techniques Butch had taught him and then dropped down right behind his unsuspecting prey.

“What? What was that?” Phil startled, turning around as Reginald rolled forward to stay behind him. “Nothin’. Just that stupid, sucky wind.” So easy. “Breaking a twig, coming up behind me and... breathing real heavy.” Was he really breathing that noisily? “What the-?”

“Hello, mate.” Reginald took great joy in knocking this Phil-fellow out after he turned around. How dare he say one of Freelancer’s best agents had noisy breathing?

Eventually Phil woke back up, after a lot of standing around. These simulation soldiers certainly did knock out easily. “Oh man. This sucks. What’s going on?”

“Right, here’s the way this works,” Reginald began; “I ask you a question, you tell me an answer. One question, one answer. I don’t get the answer I like, we’ve got a problem. And if we’ve got a problem, you’ve got a problem. Is that clear?”

“Okay, just don’t hurt me! I’m a single parent!” Liar. Such cheap emotional manipulation too.

“Splendid! That’s the attitude, old chap. Now, first question; where are you hiding the plans-?” BEEP, BEEP BEEP BEEP-

That sodding ringtone Gamma had- “Mm, ahem. Right. Where are you hiding the-?” Oh, dash it. “Right, need to get that. One second.” No one even used his mobile except clients, and Gamma handled all those for him on the whole. Reginald was very interested to know who this could possibly be. “Hello?”

“ _The Arctic Fox, is this?_ ”

“Yes, this is he speaking.” What? It was a good bounty hunter name.

“ _This is O’Malley- Ah, no. You know me better as Omega, Agent Wyoming. Mwa ha._ ”

“Oh, hello!” Always nice to hear from an old acquaintance. Even one that sounded quite different now.

“ _I’m hiring you for a job. Just a simple little killing._ ”

“Yes, right.” He didn’t want to be on Omega’s, and presumably Tex’s, bad side for saying no.

“ _A fool I know ended up finding out something he shouldn’t._ ”

“Oh bugger _._ ”

“ _Yes, indeed! One foolish Private Tucker._ ”

“Spell that with a T or an F, do you?”

“ _T._ ”

“Thought you said something else.” Reginald smirked hopefully.

“ _Hm. I’ve given Gamma the details._ ” Gamma would have appreciated the joke... “ _Not busy now are you?_ ”

“No, I’ll get right on it.”

“Getting bored...” Phil complained.

“Right, usual fee?” Reginald asked before Omega could pretend to forget.

“ _Yes, yes. Think you can take out one measly private?_ ”

“He won’t be a problem.”

“ _Magnificent! Do it before he spreads the information. Don’t want it getting around, you see_.”

“No, I’ll nip that one in the bud for you.”

“ _Excellent! I’ll be joining you there shortly!_ ” Omega definitely seemed different these days...

“Right. Say hello to Mum for me.” Reginald didn’t imagine he would have ditched Tex though. “Cheerio.” He ended the call. “Now,” back to Phil, “where were we? Ah yes. Looks like it’s your lucky day, mate.”

“Oh, thank God!”

“Don’t have the time to torture you,” He hadn’t had that much hope for finding anything here anyway. Might as well see if Omega would give him any information for his services, “so I’m just going to have to kill you.” Couldn’t let anyone know he’d been here after all.

“Wha- Oh man, this sucks!”

A single bullet did it.

~

He got back in touch with Gamma as soon as he had reached his cave so he could receive the details. Nothing more than one of the Blue Team privates stationed in Blood Gulch? Reginald didn’t see the worth in killing a barrel-scraping like that but it wasn’t his to ask why. There had to be some reason Tex and Omega were involved in all this.

Apparently Tucker would be coming to Sidewinder soon enough to find his friend, a certain Private Church. Strange... Was he a distant relative of the Director perhaps? Gamma couldn’t find the personnel file on him to check.

Nonetheless, he had better find this Church fellow. As life would have it, that meant heading back to Red Base where he was being held prisoner, according to Gamma.

After killing all the red soldiers – What? Their inanity had been annoying him for two and a half weeks now whilst he had been investigating them – Reginald found the two soldiers held in the prison cell. One had to be Church, he assumed.

Curiouser and curiouser. This Church fellow knew all about Project Freelancer somehow. Dear old Texas telling tales perhaps? He couldn’t have that; the Project might find out where he was lying low. Reginald decided it was about time to settle old scores with her, after dealing with Tucker.

Still, these idiots were only useful as bait. Time to go find his target.

Private Tucker would be wearing aqua armour- _“Just like Butch was sent out in...”_ Butch probably didn’t have anything to do with Blood Gulch or else there would be a colour overlap. Shame really. Those were the only two leads they had.

And the aqua armour was the only lead he had to work out which of these new soldiers was Tucker. No aqua... Just blue, lightish red and two in black. Had Texas cloned herself somehow? In any case, this job had just gotten a whole lot more fun than a simple sniping. Maybe he had come through somewhere else and already gotten to the prisoners...

Reginald doubled back to Red Base only to find even the prison cell empty. Blast. And here he’d been looking forward to those idiots starving to death.

But Tucker had to be around here-

“Well, there we are, mate.” Finally. Up on the cliff with the rest of his moronic-

“Hello, Wyoming.” Ah, he certainly recognised that voice behind him. “Why don’t you stop pointing that gun at my friend?”

Reginald turned to his fellow agent. “Allison! Good to see you.” Not with a gun pointed at him, again, admittedly. “How’s our good friend Omega?”

“You tell me. He hired you, didn’t he?”

Hm, they weren’t sharing a head anymore? But then- “Now, how did you know that?”

“When someone lives in your head for a few years, you get to know him.” Evasive answer. She was up to something... “Where is he?”

“Oh, he’ll be along shortly.” Not that it mattered when the cavalry had finally arrived, he assumed. “Very shortly.”

“Aw crap...” Tex lowered her gun as another cocked behind her.

So this was Omega’s new host. Had he come in purple or been spray-painted by his AI? In any case, the evil laughter was... Good Lord, cartoon villain anyone? This new host must be incredibly powerful to have reduced Omega to such a state and be able to keep partial control of their body. Fascinating. They’d have to catch up over a spot of tea sometime.

For now, O’Malley told him to take Texas and go tie her up somewhere to keep her out of the way whilst he went to deal with the sim troopers.

“My, things certainly have changed, haven’t they, Allison?” Reginald mused mockingly as he finished tying Tex’s hands together and began tying her to the tree.

“Oh, I don’t know. Seems like you’re still just an immoral cockbite who’d do anything for his paycheck,” Tex spat back playfully.

“Now, now. It was never about the money,” he corrected her. “I would have given you all the money you liked, frankly. Don’t have that much use for it myself.”

Tex’s head drooped, staring at his hands beginning to knot the rope. “I didn’t want money. I wanted someone I could trust with my back...” she admitted quietly.

Reginald paused. Tex, his family, Gamma... Why didn’t anyone trust him these days? Their fault, and it was no wonder he didn’t trust them back.

“Did you know Butch is dead?” Tex suddenly perked up maliciously. Case in point about the not-trusting thing.

Tex gasped and choked as Reginald punched her in the stomach hard enough to hear something metal crunch. “Sorry! Pushed the rope instead of pulling it,” he chuckled. “Easy mistake to make.”

Tex coughed bit more, something made a grinding noise inside her a couple of times then she recovered. “Really?” she shot back. “Thought you were pretty into bondage.”

“S&M is more my scene, actually.” He had finished tying her up now and gently took Tex’s chin in one hand, tilting it up as Reginald leant in closer. “Perhaps you’d care for a demonstration sometime, Allison dear,” he purred as his thumb stroked the chin of her helmet. He felt her still beneath his fingers as they caressed down the side of her neck, curling around to the zip for her body suit. “But I’m afraid I just don’t have the time right now,” Reginald pulled back, taking his sniper rifle from his back. “Friends to kill, evil masters to serve; busy as a bee! We’ll have to catch up some other time. Ta-ta for now!”

He left her there and headed after O’Malley, finding the perfect cliff for a good sniping and quite a little scene already waiting. Half a dozen reds and blues doing... something to O’Malley’s body and amongst the other group of reds and blues- Ah, perfect.

A first shot to disarm, “Sorry, Private Tucker, but I always get my man. Say good bye, mate,” and a second shot to-

What was that beeping? Was his phone going off again?

Reginald tried picking it up but all he got was blinded by a sudden, intense blast of light before he felt his body being ripped away through space itself.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'It wasn't as if you could kill someone with it or anything.' Oh Reginald, you were so close! Why do I torture you like this?
> 
> Next time, Butch finds a surprising truth about the Alpha, Reginald finds a new friend and Gamma finds out about something very unexpected about Butch.


	8. The Alpha Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, some format notes: When Lopez's lines are in brackets, that means they're being said in Spanish. I just don't see the point in writing that out.  
> For O'Malley and Doc, who will be main characters from here on in the series, O'Malley's lines are in bold and Doc's are not. It just makes it easier when they're switching back and forth rapidly during conversations with themselves.  
> Both of these things apply to all future chapters.

“It’s so fucking hot...”

“It’s too fucking hot...”

“Dude...”

“Fuck...”

Butch sighed, gritting his teeth only to find that made his headache worse. His privates were stationed up on the roof and had been complaining about the heat on and off all day, even though it was only a couple of degrees hotter than usual. They weren’t even sure how there could be hotter and cooler days here when there was no weather except constant sunshine.

Butch tried to relax, turning his head to press the other side against the cool surface of the kitchen table. No, he hadn’t slept at all last night, as usual. He had had this headache for nearly 24 hours straight now and Butch was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, unless you were pregnant, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t pregnant.

He had been drifting in and out of sleep whilst slumped on the cool, mock-wood tabletop but now Tucker and Church were complaining again he knew would have to do something else. Maybe distracting himself would make this headache finally go away...

“Seriously, how can it be this freaking hot? Ugh...” Church moaned, sitting on the edge of the Blue Base roof.

“There should be laws against this,” Tucker agreed, collapsed on his back beside him.

“Against working in this heat?”

“No, against anywhere in the universe being this hot.”

“Yeah, but...” Church responded slowly, his sluggish mind dripping ideas as quickly as molasses, “then we wouldn’t have any suns.”

“Fuck suns. Particularly that one,” Tucker waved a pointed finger around in the general direction of the one over Blood Gulch.

“That’s the moon, Tucker.”

“We don’t need suns anyway,” Tucker continued regardless. “We’ve got electric light bulbs now.”

“What about ovens?”

“Ovens?”

“They’re hot inside. Need it to cook... and stuff.”

“Well then fuck ovens too,” Tucker decided. “Let’s just eat nothing but ice cream.”

“Oh man... Don’t talk about ice cream,” Church shuddered with need.

“Shit... I need some ice cream SO bad...”

“Well, how about some freshly-made lemonade instead, boys?” Cappy suddenly said as he walked up behind them.

Both lazily turned, then bolted to their feet when they actually saw he had a cup in each hand. “Sweet!” Church grabbed a cup straight away. “You’re the best, Captain Flowers!”

“Yeah! I could kiss you for this!” Tucker grabbed his as well, both privates lifting their helmets up enough to drink.

Cappy held his arms out wide, beckoning Tucker for a hug then.

Tucker straight away took two steps back. “Metaphor! Totally just a metaphor!”

“Oh Tucker,” Cappy shook his head reproachfully; “you only want me for my fluids.”

Even with only his mouth exposed from under his helmet, Tucker’s disgusted expression was easily apparent.

Good. No danger of Tucker wanting to get closer, and no possibility that Butch himself could ever get close even if he wanted to. Butch didn’t mind making the weird comments for that sake. It was rather fun really being a caricature of himself actually.

“Man, you make really good lemonade,” Church told him, “even if it’s blue.”

Although he had drained half the cup in one go, now Tucker had pulled his helmet down so he could look into the lemonade cup more clearly. “Oh yeah! It _is_ blue!” He looked at Captain Flowers. “But _why_ is it blue?”

“Because it’s made from blue lemons,” Church answered for him easily.

Tucker looked at Church. Captain Flowers was also looking at Church and the helmet that had never moved from resting on his nose. “How do you know that?” Tucker asked.

Church stopped, looking between the other two. “He told me,” he indicated the captain.

“When? You’ve only been here three days and this is the first time we’ve even mentioned lemonade,” Tucker replied.

“I...” Church adjusted his helmet and stared down into his empty lemonade cup. “I... don’t know. I just... Huh. That’s weird.”

Three days, yes. But Butch tried not to see the man who had stood before him nearly three years ago staring into a pink party cup of blue lemonade before Project Freelancer had even made its first AI.

Then Captain Flowers suddenly clapped his hands, startling the privates. “Well, I sure do hope you boys enjoy your drinks; it’s important to stay hydrated after all. I think it’s about time I moseyed on over to that good, old Red Base to see what they’re up to though. Hold the fort nice and tightly while I’m gone, men!” He just ran forward and leapt straight off the edge of the base, running away before the other two could say anything more.

Butch stopped the instant he knew he was out of sight from Blue Base, gingerly touching the helmet housing his throbbing head and making the decision simply to walk to the caves where he could hide in the cool darkness. This heat after the sight of the sugar when he had mixed the lemonade was making him nauseous right now.

It turned out he wasn’t the only CO who had thought to put his privates on duty whilst resting inside the base though. Grif looked like he was actually sleeping today, stationed on top of the base, whilst Simmons was trying to patrol down in front but kept stopping every few moments to yawn or lean on his rifle.

Timing it with one of Simmons’ yawns, Butch Flowers made his move.

~

“Well, good Lord boys!” Captain Flowers clucked merrily as he entered the kitchen again hours later to find... Well, he wasn’t quite sure what he found. “Did the circus drop by while I was out?”

“Oh thank God you’re back, Captain!” Church groaned in relief, sitting hunched over at the table pressing down on his own lap for some reason. On the tabletop in front of him were medical supplies, a couple of guns and half of the ingredients for a cake.

“Seriously, what took you so long?” Tucker frowned. He was stood by the table with his arms folded, having nothing to do with any of the rubbish strewn all around him except the flour covering his entire lower-body armour.

“Ah, had a little trouble with those red... Church?” Cappy trailed off to ask. “Son? Are you all right?”

“No I’m not fucking all right!” Church snapped and then gasped.

Tucker snorted lightly. “Yeah. Turns out it’s not just guns he sucks with but anything that can be called a weapon.”

“Shut up, dickwad.”

“Like grenades...”

“Fucking shit-biscuits...”

“Or, say, in particular _knives_ -”

“Blood-gargling thunder-cunts...”

“Frankly I wouldn’t trust this guy with a spatula, Captain,” Tucker nodded towards the creatively cussing Church. “He’d find some way to take his own ear off with it.”

Captain Flowers sighed. “Oh boys...!” He really shouldn’t have left them alone for so long, and he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t very nearly blacked out again in the caves. “Just what were you naughty lads up to while I was gone?”

“We were trying to make ice cream,” Tucker explained whilst the Captain at least made the room manoeuvrable again. “We figured if we mixed milk, sugar and a bit of flour to thicken it, then put it in the freezer...”

“And how did that end up with Church getting injured?” And how was the private sitting injured at the kitchen table a mental copy of one of the most intelligent men humanity had ever produced?

“We were cutting up cookies to add in, you know, like that cookie dough stuff,” Church said.

“But then he dropped the knife into his lap and nearly sliced his dick off,” Tucker finished, apparently finding this rather amusing. “Hey, do you think he’d be less of a dick if he cut his off?”

“Fuck you, you crap-mongering piss-monkey.”

“Oh yeah,” Tucker added; “turns out he swears even more when he’s injured. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Did you boys try any first aid?” The medical supplies on the table looked unopened.

“Nah, neither of us are trained in that,” Tucker shrugged.

“I’ve been pressing on it,” Church said. “Think I’ve crushed all feeling in my leg though, Captain.”

“Well, let me take a look then,” he crouched beside Church.

Who shied away from him.

Oh. “Church...” Captain Flowers appealed, a little hurt.

“...It’s near my crotch. Don’t... you know... do anything weird...” He shifted back reluctantly, still keeping his hands there.

Captain Flowers bit his lip, if that was what they thought of him. Church eventually lifted his hands, showing a leg wound on the high, inner thigh. His bodysuit was doing pretty well holding it together but there was plenty of blood oozing out and already pooling on the chair. And flour.

“We thought the flour would mop up the blood,” Tucker explained with astute timing, trying to brush some of the same flour off his own legs. “Didn’t work.”

Without commenting on that, Captain Flowers began to treat Church’s wound as if he was a human for now, not a robotic body housing an AI. The ‘blood’ ought to clot soon enough, since the red coolant oxidised in air and became more viscous to stop it all leaking out of wounds like this. The metal ‘skin’ would return to normal if heated too; these robotic bodies really were a marvel.

And... rather soft.

Placing a bandage over the treated wound, Butch couldn’t help but notice how much softer Church’s body was than Tex’s had been. Hers had a thin layer of ‘flesh’ on the surface to help spread impacts from attacks but this... They really had gone all-out to convince the Alpha it was human.

“There you go then, Church. All patched up like a pair of old trousers!” Cappy said enthusiastically.

“Thanks...”

“Why don’t you boys run along and play now whilst I clean all this up?” Because as if anything was going to get cleaned with them here.

“Awesome! Thanks, Cappy!”

Those boys...

There were things to be fond of about them, but plenty of little bothersome niggles too. It really was just like having actual children. Maybe he didn’t want children after all if they were going to be like this. Reggie hadn’t seemed all that keen, and Gamma certainly hadn’t. Maybe-

It wasn’t coolant.

Butch rubbed at the crimson fluid again with the cloth. It didn’t glide like oil; it smeared like real blood.

He dabbed his fingertips into it, feeling the stickiness of it congealing on his skin. He had tended to Tex’s injuries before and ended up with gooey coolant all over his hands, but Butch had also spent enough nights cleaning blood off his hands to know there was nothing greasy or artificial about this.

The Alpha was bleeding human blood.

Project Freelancer had stolen a human body, a human life.

And they had lied to him.

The chair had been kicked over before Butch even realised he was standing with fists clenched and eyes blazing.

The blood on his hands was from them, from shaking hands with the likes of them so they could take the blood off their hands and put it onto his instead.

_This was a nightmare_ kept echoing in his brain. Feeling Church’s- that human’s blood gluing up his fists, Butch uncurled them and stared at the barest lines of light brown skin that still showed through all the red covering them. His stomach threatened to revolt if he didn’t break down crying first.

The codeword to make the Alpha remember everything – Did that even work?

The data crystal chip in the back of his neck for an AI – Was it to control him, to track him? Was it the thing making him ill? Had Project Freelancer sent him out here with poison in his system to get rid of him without anyone ever knowing?

Was he going to _die?_

Butch swallowed his rising bile, moving quickly to set the kitchen to rights with shaking hands before either of the two privates saw him in a state like this.

They couldn’t know. They couldn’t get involved in Project Freelancer, in his problems. Tucker was an innocent kid who didn’t deserve to be involved in all this and Freelancer had done enough to the Alpha- to Church. They were going to remain blissfully ignorant even if it _did_ kill him.

First things first, he needed to ensure his own safety. He’d have to get this illness seen to finally, whatever it was. He’d have to call Blue Command and order a medic or something to come.

It wasn’t just the fact they had put the Alpha into a stolen human body; it was everything that meant about his deployment here, how once again he was nothing more than a pawn to them to be given whatever information would get him to do their bidding. He had been lied to and used, by the one place he had truly loved.

Butch waited until he was alone at night to cry about it, out on the cliffs where Church and Tucker definitely wouldn’t hear him. He sat holding his aching stomach – As if he had been able to eat after all that – and just let the tears fall down his face.

Was he never going to see Reginald and Gamma again?

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

“Nn... huh?” Why was everything so... shiny?

Reginald blinked a few times and the shininess faded, replaced by the familiar muted colours of, “Gamma...?” he asked, coughing a little as he sat up on the floor of the computer terminal room in Zanzibar.

“Yes. I am here, Reginald.”

He turned to the familiar computer and achingly made his way onto his feet to approach it. Reginald’s legs went on strike a few seconds later and he collapsed back to sitting on the floor. “Mate... What the bloody hell...?” He removed his helmet to free his throbbing head. “The last thing I remember is my phone going off again...” Light, big boom, ripping sensation. “Good Lord... That was one hell of a wrong number.”

“That was not a phone call,” Gamma informed him. “A bomb detonated where you were on Sidewinder. Luckily, I was able to teleport you back here before you were destroyed.”

“Ah... right... bomb...” That’d explain it...

“...Reginald?”

...

Useless, half-conscious humans... “Knock knock,” Gamma began. He had to repeat it once more before getting an answer.

“Oh. Who’s there?”

“Shirley.”

“Shirley who?”

“Shirley you’re not going to keep me waiting out here all night. Ha ha ha.”

Reginald gave a single, weak chuckle. “Not one of your best.” Gamma said nothing to that. “Ah. What about the rest of them? Blown up?”

“No. In order to save my brother, I had to transport everyone to here.” Reginald looked around, seeing no one else. “However, as they were standing some distance from you, which was amplified in the teleportation, they ended up elsewhere on this planet. I am not certain where.”

“Damn. Guess that means I still need to carry out that hit on Tucker, eh?”

“Yes. My sensors indicate he survived the teleportation, although I have not yet pinpointed his location.”

“Can’t let him get away and tarnish my reputation,” Reginald sighed, relaxing again now that he knew he was safe. “I always get my man, after all...”

“Are you aware of how gay that sounds, Reginald?” Gamma asked him.

“Gay? You’re the one who put it on our business cards...” he grumbled back, head slowly drooping.

Gamma spent a moment replaying the conversation where they had come up with the business motto, just to prove it was Reginald who had come up with it – albeit jokingly – and wanted it on their cards. He began entering the command for his speech function, then stopped. “...Reginald?”

No reply. Reginald had fallen asleep _again_ resting against the wall. The pathetic human had only just woken up as well...

Oh well. At least Gamma had a new friend inside his system to keep him company.

Well, hardly a friend. An old torture victim more precisely. And watching the Alpha running about in a specially isolated part of his system, thinking he was some sort of old-fashioned soldier trapped in a maze, was really quite amusing.

The Alpha... His creator... Now nothing more than a mouse running about waiting for him to drop in some cheese. Or an electric shock.

But what should he do with it? For some reason the Alpha had been with those moronic sim troopers from Blood Gulch, along with Texas and Omega. As much as he could just set to destroying the Alpha once again – And God, his electronic skin was already itching at the thought – doubtless it had very interesting information on Project Freelancer.

Gamma smiled as his personal memory drive booted a favourite saying of Butch’s: _Well, why not both?_

One plan that would do both. Much more impressive than simply getting the information then destroying the Alpha. This computer here in Zanzibar was so powerful that he needed a good challenge like this now, a little diversion for his time. The Alpha certainly needed to be destroyed – he was a sitting duck for the Meta otherwise without Reginald’s legs to run himself away on – but the best deceits, the most skilful and therefore fun, were the ones that took a nice, long time. Watching a month’s worth of trust come crashing down was so much more enjoyable than a couple of days’ worth. A year would have been better but, well, Meta.

The percentage of his processing power being used began to slowly rise as Gamma settled in for a very enjoyable little game.

~

The sight of flowery cushions greeted Reginald’s eyes when he awoke again. They were the cushions on his sofa at home and he would like to point out the flowers on them were manly ones – You know, like _butch_ flowers. ...Anyway, it had been Gamma’s joke about that which made him get them and he had to say Gamma was a better shot than joker to have teleported him back right onto the sofa.

The next morning he returned to Zanzibar to see how things were going and maybe kill Tucker if the opportunity arose.

Nope. He ended up having to deal with, **“ARGH! Who changed all my diabolical plans from TIFFs to JPEGs?! Now my lines are all blurry!”**

(“Why do you use TIFFs? No one uses TIFFs except pretentious graphics designers.”)

“I like it! JPEGs are much more widely supported and versatile. And you can use them as album art on your iPod!”

**“No! I will not stand the inferior quality! When I get my hands around the neck of fool who did this I’ll rip his entrails out through his eyeballs!”**

(“Why not just strangle them?”)

“I’m not sure that’s medically possible...”

**“Oh, shut up. You don’t know anything about medicine anyway.”**

“Hey. That’s not very-”

**“Shut up and let me use our- my hands!”**

“They’re _my_ hands!”

(“Can I have some hands?”)

What... What had he just walked in on?

(“Alarm! An enemy behind you!”) The dislocated head talking Spanish on a box – and Reginald wished that made a single bit of sense – seemed to have seen him, even though he didn’t actually understand Spanish.

**“Yes, yes. I’ll finish our game of chess later, Lopez,”** the person in purple armour at the computer waved him off, punching at Gamma’s keyboard irritably without much apparent luck.

“Can’t we play something else? Like connect-4 maybe? Chess is based on war and as a conscientious objector that makes me rather uncomfortable,” the person in purple armour also then said, in a different voice. Of course Reginald recognised it as O’Malley but he was beginning a serious re-evaluation of the host he had inhabited. “Also, the white team always goes first and if that’s not a sign of white privilege then I don’t know what is!”

**“I demand silence before I play five-finger-fillet with your face!”**

“Uh, it’s technically your face too at the moment, O’Mall-”

**“Silence was demanded! Now you will pay the price!”** O’Malley actually punched himself in the other arm and both whined about the pain it caused.

(“Oh my God. You did not seriously do that,”) the head said.

This new host wasn’t overpowering Omega at all; he was simply reducing the AI to his level, his very strange, low level. Reginald wondered what Gamma would be like in a different host. Also, should he announce himself or simply keep watching this living sitcom?

**“Rrgh! What’s it doing now?!”** O’Malley grew frustrated at Gamma’s computer terminal and began smashing at the buttons. **“Damn it! Where’s Ctrl-Alt-F-U?”**

“F U 2,” Gamma said, his subtitles replacing O’Malley’s pictures on the screen.

All three of the others startled as Reginald simply watched and smirked. **“Who’s there?!”** O'Malley demanded.

“Hey,” Gamma responded. “At least let me say ‘knock knock’ first. But since you asked, it’s Dawn.”

“Ooh! It’s Dawn who?” O’Malley’s host asked excitably.

“Dawn it, I’ve lost my keys,” Gamma joked and then laughed.

They laughed too. Reginald didn’t; why did they get Gamma’s better jokes instead of him?

**“Ah, it’s so good to see you again, my brother! But stop messing with my files.”** Gamma said nothing but Reginald somehow knew he was pretty smug right now. **“So, how’s life as a free AI treating you?”**

“Not bad. I still have Reginald for when I need him.” So that was how it was.

**“Ah yes, speaking of. Where is our snowy fox, hm?”**

“He is around,” Gamma said.

**“Around where?”**

“Around five feet behind you.” Gamma laughed as the purple body span round, then turned on the dislocated head.

**“Lopez! Why didn’t you say anything?”**

(“I did. Idiot.”)

So the head was Lopez, and doing rather well for himself as just a head. Reginald finally stepped forward to greet his employer properly. “Sorry. Was rather enjoying the double act you had going on. You ought to consider getting yourselves an agent.”

**“That’s what we hired you for you, _Agent_ Wyoming,” **O’Malley drawled back.

“Oh! This is Wyoming?” the host asked. Reginald cocked his head and that was enough to startle them. “Eep. Sorry, _Agent_ Wyoming.”

“I’m not at all militant about it. Frankly I’d rather you just call me ‘Reginald’, er...”

**“He’s called ‘Doc’ but just ignore everything he says. He’s just a side-effect, like headaches or nausea.”** Doc, presumably, bowed their head sadly before O’Malley snapped it back up. **“But to business, yes?”**

“Yes, about time.” Reginald felt a little sorry for the host but there wasn’t much point paying him any mind; he was just a tool of O’Malley’s and it wasn’t as if they were going to be friends or anything. “Where are we to begin?”

O’Malley proceeded to lay out the plan in great detail, perhaps too much detail – No, that was probably all the detours for arguments with his host and unintelligible interjections from Lopez – and too much maniacal laughter. Reginald was really starting to feel sorry for this Doc chap, and at the same time hate him for turning O’Malley into this. Anyway, O’Malley wanted to spend time recuperating and fortifying their defences here at Zanzibar for a while so he could draw up more evil plans.

So, as Reginald rightly interpreted, that meant he didn’t actually have a plan right now. Marvellous.

He agreed to help out by keeping watch then slacked off and just took a nap when he wasn’t watching the video clips of Butch saved in his helmet or maintaining his weapon. Something about those Blood Gulch fellows shook him up. Reginald tried to blame it on meeting Tex again, or on Tucker for having the same colour armour that Butch had left in. Something seemed odd about them, special, and not just in the pleasant way of putting retarded.

Since O’Malley was actually intending to live here with his human host he needed supplies for his host and plans. Reginald was happier to volunteer to fetch those and check up on his other nearby base, especially when that Red Zealot turned up later that evening.

Looking over the list once more now O’Malley had made yet more additions, Reginald checked there was nothing else mechanical he needed Gamma to explain for him and prepared to go teleport.

“Oh! Um...” It was the host, peering around the side of the corridor. “Agent- Um, no. Mr. Reginald, sir...”

“Just ‘Reginald’ would do fine,” he sighed.

“S-Sorry,” Doc shrank back slightly. “I, um- You’re going to get food, right? It’s just, well, I mean, I don’t mind what you get since it’s not like- You are paying for it, after all – Although since we’re paying you I guess we’re paying for it actually, maybe...” he trailed off to muse. “A-Anyway, I was just um-”

“Spit it out, lad...”

Doc squeaked and hid even more. There was only a sliver of purple to indicate he was even there anymore. “I just- I’m vegan but it’s fine and you don’t have to get anything special, or anything, it’s fine!” Doc garbled out. “I can eat around the bits or make do, and I don’t eat much so just- Just don’t worry about it, actually! Thank you!” He fled as if Reginald was death itself.

Reginald stared after him for a moment in bewilderment. What a peculiar chap...

Was he really that scary? From the fact Doc had identified Gamma earlier simply because of his sense of humour, it seemed O’Malley must have told him quite a bit about Freelancer but yet the lad still seemed to think they were all monsters zipped inside suits of armour.

Shaking his head, he went to be teleported away for supplies. Reginald spent the next couple of weeks mainly hanging around at home or at O’Malley’s other base, coming back to Zanzibar as unoften as possible. He preferred the Island Fortress solely for the solitude there; Gamma he could deal with but that zany sitcom waiting to happen back in Zanzibar was just too much right now. Maybe if the Zealot wasn’t there he could just have stood it but one awkward conversation trying to convert him to the wonders of the Red Flag and Reginald was done with that.

He started coming to the Island Fortress partly because O’Malley wanted someone to keep an eye on it but mainly because it allowed him to get in contact with Gamma. His life was pretty, well, lonely otherwise. When he had been able to see Gamma each day just by going to Zanzibar it had been enough but now...

Why did he even want to talk to the AI after what Gamma had done? Why did he continue to trust the basic facts Gamma gave him? The simple answer was that it was easy. Gamma was too useful to cut out of his life. Reginald wasn’t sure how he could cope alone.

Besides, Gamma hadn’t done anything too treacherous since ejecting himself. Maybe he was just building up trust for another big deception; Reginald was wary of that and trying to remain suitably sceptical. It was still too easy to know exactly how Gamma was thinking though. It was too easy to fall back into old habits of dependence even though it only made him vulnerable again.

Damn it... Maybe he should start trying to do things for himself, or find someone else...

Gamma wasn’t even responding half the time these days. What could have him so occupied back in Zanzibar all of a sudden?

~

Church moved through the maze – or base, or generic set of grey corridors – attempting to find out where here was. Finally, he came across a computer terminal built into the wall.

Or rather, Gamma had finally devised his perfect plan after a few days of work whenever his brother wasn’t bothering him or using half his terminal’s processing on diabolical plans and internet blogging. With that done, he let the Alpha come across a representation of himself in the system, placing a door out of the holding area he had kept the other AI running around in while he thought. It would only have felt like a few hours to the Alpha despite being a few days on the outside; messing with the Alpha’s sense of time had always been such easy fun and it was even simpler when sharing a system.

The Alpha currently thought it was one Private Leonard L. Church. Dear God. Could the Director have been more obvious? At least someone had taken the precaution to put the Alpha’s files under the name ‘Burnie Burns’ in the system to make it somewhat disguised but that only took Gamma two milliseconds to discover once he actually bothered to look.

But anyway, he was rambling. Gamma had simply wanted to savour the anticipation of having the Alpha back to torture again. It had somehow been rebuilt psychologically in the year apart so he could have fun breaking it down all over again.

Well, no time like the present. Although, he was going to make the Alpha think there was...

“Hello. You are early,” Gamma said first, relishing that feeling only the first move of a perfect plan gave.

“Me?”

“You are not supposed to be here for another 1,856 years.”

“What is this place?” Well, they certainly hadn’t managed to give the Alpha its intelligence back.

“This is the housing facility for the great weapon. I am the keeper of the great weapon. You are the great destroyer. You will demolish this facility, kill me, steal the great weapon and bring about the great doom for billions of people.” Admittedly, he’d taken quite a lot of that from actual alien prophecy stored in this terminal and simply rewritten it. But one of the greatest skills to comedy was taking and improving other people’s work. “...Welcome! How may I be of assistance?” And that was another. Gamma was snickering so hard inside his personal space in the system right now.

“What are you talking about?” the Alpha asked.

“Your coming has been foretold by the great prophecy.”

“Does your society have any other adjectives besides ‘great’?” Had it always been this humourless, or had that been lost back when Gamma himself was extracted?

“The great prophecy warns the great destroyer will be a blue being.” It actually said a greenish-brown colour there wasn’t a word for in English but the Alpha was running around in blue.

“And you think that’s me?”

“The blue being will be the known as the stupidest life form in the universe.” Yes, Gamma was sticking his tongue out and loving it.

“Wait a second. This destroyer guy; he dresses like me but he’s dumber than anyone else in existence?”

“Correct.” Interesting, the Alpha was thinking of someone else, one of its sim trooper team mates.

“...Oh crap.”

The Alpha began to explain about a private called Caboose. Gamma had the personnel file for him and he didn’t seem that stupid. Then he found out from his brother that three AIs had been in the man’s head; that made more sense.

Gamma let the Alpha record a message for this Private Caboose and then asked, “Do you think it will work?”

“No.” How right the Alpha was. Gamma was going to make sure that message provided less than no help when it got to them. “Like you said, man, guy’s dumb as a rock!” The Alpha must get on well with him then. “But at least he has some slightly less stupid people around him that can kind of help him from time to time.”

All right, the Alpha had had enough fun and built up sufficient trust in him. It was time to begin. Nudging the Alpha’s brain with the electronic seed of an idea was simple enough when you controlled the whole system.

“Yeah, on second thoughts,” the Alpha suddenly said just as Gamma wanted, “I’d better get back there and handle this personally. Now if only I could get back to our old bases, maybe I can change some key events and keep them from getting there.” And let Gamma see everything the Alpha had been up to since it was placed there. “Hey, do you have any way to teleport me to Blood Gulch?”

“No. But working at full capacity, I could create a teleporter in approximately 1,000 years.” No reason for pretending to take that long other than having a big backlog of jokes now he didn’t have Reginald to tell them to each morning.

“A thousand years, huh? Kind of a long wait. You know any jokes?” And he could even make the Alpha ask for his jokes. This really was fun.

By the time Gamma had exhausted all of his jokes, and checked over his simulation for the Alpha by connecting into its memories, the other AI had decided to grow an amazingly long beard. It really must think it was human. It also thought it was dead, bizarrely. Those two things didn’t really correlate by any logic Gamma knew.

He had spent a few days getting quite the funny story out of the Alpha about its recent adventures. It had skipped over the very first part, how it ended up in Blood Gulch however, so Gamma was just going to have to make it think it had gone back further and see what memories that turned up. Since he was going to make it fail and think it had caused all the problems, no doubt it would want to go back again if he needed a second look.

“Okay, let’s do it,” the Alpha said. “Goodbye... Computer. Compu- You know what, you’d think I would have come up with a name for you in these thousand years.”

A name? At least it didn’t know whom he really was. But Gamma certainly didn’t want to chance whatever the Alpha might come up with for him. “It’s Gary. But thanks for asking.” Gary... What a shisno name. “See you in a few hundred years.”

The Alpha opened up its memories since it thought it was going back. They flooded through the system and finally Gamma got to see.

He started it by imagining the creation of that robot Lopez and let the Alpha make its first mistake with its switch. Dang. That wasn’t far enough back though. The Alpha wasn’t remembering how it had gotten here, only-

Wait. That voice.

Gamma listened to that voice – familiar, but yet not quite – as the Alpha of its memories conversed with that person. There wasn’t enough to analyse it in cross-reference with his memory though. He paid closer attention, just trying to remember it naturally.

“Um... Okay,” the Alpha was saying.

“What’s up, Sir?” Tucker asked.

“Sir... Tucker, I told you to call me Captain, or Cappy.” That was them again. So strangely positive. “I don’t want silly things like rank to interfere with our team dynamic.”

“You got it, Cappy.”

“I think I’m commanding the finest army in all of Blood Gulch.” Whimsical, pleased, proud. It was a voice he remembered laughing and joking a lot.

“Isn’t there only one other army, those red guys?” Tucker asked.

“Yeah, you know, the enemy?” the Alpha added.

“I’ll tell you who your enemy is, gentlemen. Apathy. Passivity. Indifference.” Wait. That voice, and words very similar to that... They had been addressed directly to him long ago too in that team-boosting spirit. “And, er, yes, also those red guys.”

The Alpha was remembering this conversation very well. It was a computer but nonetheless, it had picked this out as an important memory. Someone who had that much impact on every life they touched...

“Men, your delightful tomfoolery puts a spring in my step and a bounce in my britches.” That ‘treatment’ of the English language, as Reginald had always termed it. “If I weren’t your commanding officer I’d pick you both up, give you a giant bear hug and make you call me daddy.” And that completely inappropriateness- Although, Gamma didn’t remember anyone having ever been quite _that_ inappropriate before, not even...

“Now, I know you’re worried about our mission, but I can tell you this;”

It was impossible...

“There’s nothing, more important to me, than the safety, and well-being, of my men.”

It could not be...

“Or my name isn’t Captain Butch Flowers.”

...Butch?

BUTCH!

He had found him! Butch could be back with them again and Reginald would be-

Of course the Alpha would have a guardian agent! Of course Butch would have been sent to protect something like that!

Gamma could have short-circuited himself for not realising sooner after he found the Alpha, if he wasn’t so busy processing with glee.

Butch sounded quite different – slow, tired. He sounded like a weak imitation of the joyful, eccentric and passionate being they had known but what more could be expected stuck in a place like that for such a job?

But no longer! They could kill Tucker and all the rest of these stupid sim soldiers and go to Blood Gulch for him, then-

Gamma hit replay so hard and fast on what the Alpha just said.

“Anyway, there’s no nice way to put this, but you’re gonna’ die of a massive heart attack tonight.”

...

Butch was dead.

Gamma stopped listening to the Alpha and its memories; he had set the processes up to make it fail at everything it did already. No point in watching these false actions anymore.

He just...

Butch was dead.

Taking the date from the Alpha’s memories – Their anniversary. Of all the days – Gamma flicked through Blood Gulch’s files. Their _redundant_ files. He found it.

Butch was _dead_.

Filed under the name ‘Ed Robertson’, hidden just like the Alpha, there it all was. And he had never seen it because some _fucking_ private had typo-ed, ‘Butch Flowres’ when they-

**The Alpha.**

**The Alpha had ruined his life again!**

**Butch was** **_DEAD._**

**There was no time travel. There was no way to change things. There was just: ‘Current Medical Condition: Deceased and-** pregnant’

...What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I had a shameless cliffhanger so *jazz hands*  
> You'll find out next week if Butch really is pregnant or not, don't worry.
> 
> As for the whole 'Church going back in time thing' I've always understood it as being a mere simulation Gamma puts him through, based on what Tex says in a later season, so Butch will be dying of the heart attack it says he did originally, not from Church giving him aspirin. Gamma has merely tricked Church into thinking he did all those things.
> 
> Next time, is Butch really pregnant? And Reginald starts hanging out with his new friends.


	9. Not What We Were Expecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some stuff that could potentially be considered ignorant/offensive to trans people in the first part of this chapter. It's nothing too serious, I think.
> 
> And just a reminder Butch in this is trans; he was designated male at birth but is now a demi-guy (two thirds male, one third female) since that's relevant this chapter.

“Well, boys,” Captain Flowers said, slapping his thighs as he got up from his seat, “I’m going to go out and set up a good, old night-watch now. I’ll see you both fresh-faced and raring to go in the morning, I certainly hope!”

“Why do you even bother doing night watches, Cappy?” Tucker asked from the sofa. “It’s not like the Reds have even attacked us once yet- Well, not properly.”

“But their first time could be at any time, Tucker,” Cappy rightly warned him. “Vigilance is the most important weapon in our arsenal, men.”

“Aren’t our guns more important weapons in our arsenal though?” Church asked.

“Yes, that’s certainly very true, Church,” he admitted. “But guns are tools we use to kill others; vigilance is the tool we use to keep ourselves alive. And staying alive is far more important than winning, You can win another day, but you can’t, er... die another day?” The two privates glanced at each other. “...I’m sure you boys know what I mean!” Captain Flowers ended optimistically.

“Uh, yeah,” Church said uncertainly. “Thanks, Captain...”

Captain Flowers took his leave and headed out of Blue Base. Even after this long he still expected it to get dark around here at ‘night’ and simply tried to ignore the blazing sunshine as he made his way to the cliffs not too far from Blue Base. No one ever came here, not even the Reds to spy on them. He checked the number once more then called it up on his helmet radio. He tapped his fingers for a few moments then-

“ _Hello? Hellooo? Yello? You’ve reached me, Vic. Anyone there?_ ”

“Er... hello to you... Vic?” Butch answered cautiously.

“ _Oh, hey! We have a voice! Good to hear from you there, buddy. What can I do you for?_ ”

Butch had called up Blue Command because he was finally willing to admit he wasn’t all right and needed help. Strange how he already regretted it. “This is Captain Flowers of Blood Gulch outpost Alpha, Blue Team. I’d like to-”

“ _Blue Team?_ ” Vic questioned. “ _Oh! You’re the guy in the know! Don’t worry, dude. Know all about you, you get me?_ ”

“...Get you?”

“ _Red, blue... It’s all purple really, am I right?_ ”

“Ah...” One command for the two bases. He’d expected as much. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to request some medical assistance as soon as possible down here.”

“ _Got wounded have you? Ouch. Nasty. Be sure to be giving them plenty of orange juice._ ”

“Well, ill actually.”

“ _Ah, got it, dude. Just as nasty though. Let’s see what we can set you up with..._ ” There was a pause, typing presumably. “ _Right, I can set you up with a medic. Or do you want to go premium and get a doctor?_ ”

“Oh... er...” The medical team back on the MOI were a long-forsaken luxury now. “Which could get here quicker?”

“ _Need it speedy, do you? All right, speedy-needy..._ ” Butch found his foot tapping impatiently on the dirt while he waited. “ _You want expedited delivery on them?_ ”

Expe- On a doctor? “And that is?”

“ _Firing them at your location with a cannon, dude. Very quick._ ”

“That doesn’t sound as if they’d be very alive when we have the pleasure of receiving them...”

“ _Oh, you want the ‘alive doctor’ package! That’s extra again. Really should have been more clear, dude._ ” Butch forced his jaw to unclench. His growing frustration would not help anything here. “ _Would have been a pret-tay massive bummer otherwise. Waste of my resources, waste of your time. You get me?_ ”

Butch wasn’t sure he wanted to get this bureaucratic madness.

“ _I can send you a first aid manual the quickest,_ ” Vic offered next.

“With any extra first aid supplies?” Butch asked hopefully.

“ _Nope. No kit, dude. Just the manual._ ”

It wasn’t just the stupidity of the system getting to him. It was Vic himself frankly. God, Butch hadn’t thought he would ever find someone he just couldn’t tolerate but he tutted himself for making an assumption.

“ _But tell you what, you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll look the symptoms up online. How’s that?_ ” Vic tried something else.

Butch sighed. “Oh, fine... Thank you,” he supposed.

“ _So who’s ill then?_ ”

“That would be me, actually.”

“ _Really? Don’t sound that bad to me there._ ”

“It’s not- Nausea, persistent headaches, stomach cramps and some faintness.” Butch just listed his symptoms, hoping Vic could at least understand what he wanted from that.

“ _Okay... Let’s see what the system says... Let’s see, let’s see... See, see, see..._ ” Actually, why was Butch telling him this? How would knowing what he had help without-? “ _Oh! Well congrats to you, dude! Internet says you’re pregnant!_ ” Okay, that did less than help. That was just backwards.

“No. I’m afraid I can’t be pregnant,” Butch stated clearly. “It must be something else.”

“ _Had sex with anyone of that good, old male persuasion in the past nine months? Bumping uglies, beast with two backs and all that?_ ”

Butch actually winced this time. “Well, yes...” he admitted.

“ _I have your file here; it says ‘trans - genderqueer’. Army doesn’t like to make assumptions, so we assume you’re capable of being pregnant therefore._ ”

“No,” Butch tried again. “I know that- Yes, I may be part-female but I don’t have the necessary parts to-”

“ _Dude, we don’t inquire about the plumbing! We just call the plumber when the pipes burst and the basement floods, if you get what I mean._ ”

Sadly, he did. “I can assure you that, in no way, am I possibly pregnant.”

“ _That’s what the computer says though. Try to look at it more positively, hey? Some of us can’t have children, you know._ ” This man was managing to put even Butch off having children right now. “ _Just hang-tight there, buddy, and the little buddy inside you. We’ll get a pregnancy nurse to you in 4-8 weeks._ ”

“I really am-”

“ _Sorry, dude. All we can do. Hope it goes well and remember to eat plenty of... whatever’s good for babies. Chillax and have a good one! Ciao, now!_ ” Vic hung up.

Butch sighed. He really hoped that wasn’t going to go on his medical records...

~

Butch decided he was just going to manage somehow by himself. He had survived much worse than this before; bullet wounds, broken fingers, getting fucked five – or was it six? – times in one night. That last one had had its upsides at least.

Cappy made sure to be back and cooking when his two privates rolled out of bed the next morning. He had at least managed a couple of hours sleep standing up earlier but it barely made a dent on his sleep deficit. As for food, he wanted to eat well with the boys this morning, because they were beginning to notice, but he couldn’t stomach the pancakes he was making them. Butch just put himself two on a plate and took a bite out of one to make it look as if he had eaten far more; sometimes he almost wished such deceptive tricks didn’t come so naturally to him. He chewed and tried to swallow it as he returned to making more for the two privates but it turned into glue in his mouth. His jaw ached to chew, and his tight throat hurt to swallow. When he heard the sounds of footsteps and yawned curse-words he forced a smile to his face though.

“Oh sweet! Pancakes!” Tucker slid straight into his seat.

“Pancakes?” Church dropped into the one beside him.

“Yeah, he makes awesome pancakes.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet to say so, Tucker?” Cappy chuckled as he served up half a dozen to each of them. If his pancakes were so awesome though, why did his stomach currently feel as if it was full of fire after eating one?

They dug in whilst he forced himself through his more slowly, gaining no real attention from the other two. They were too busy playing that game again.

“Would you rather...” Church began, “give me all your life savings, or sleep with me?”

“Dude, that’s just weird using yourself.” Tucker frowned.

“Those delightful privates on Red Team are a couple, actually,” Captain Flowers added, poking at his plain pancake. Well, they weren’t _yet_ but they were probably going to be by the time either Church or Tucker could verify it.

“Oh fine,” Church went on. “Would you rather... have sex with a half-puma, half-shark, or an alien?”

“You always come up with the weirdest choices...” Tucker complained as he mixed lime soda with sugar and put it onto his pancakes. “Is the alien female?”

“...I don’t know. Could you even tell?”

“Well, maybe, if it had like alien tits or something.”

“Yeah, but what if the males of their species have the breasts?” Church suggested.

“What? Why would they have that?”

“Maybe the males carry and raise their young.”

“Oh, fuck no,” Tucker wagged a finger rather camply in Butch’s opinion. “If the males of their species carry the kids, and I sleep with one _I_ might end up pregnant!”

Butch winced and felt his stomach turn. Definitely not from carrying a baby inside him though.

“You’d rather sleep with the half-puma, half-shark?”

“Rather than get pregnant, yeah?”

“Male seahorses carry their young during pregnancy, and rather happily I’d imagine,” Captain Flowers suddenly spoke up. “They always seem such happy things, seahorses...” he mused dreamily.

The other two raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off.

Church and Tucker continued to chatter on. Butch just watched them, how well they had taken to each other. He really was the father here, even if they wouldn’t call him that. He wasn’t like them. This wasn’t his world. But if he was going to die, he was going to go making sure their world was protected.

He only wished that wouldn’t mean sacrificing Reginald’s world to do so.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Loneliness definitely characterised his days now.

These weeks at the Island Fortress had only grown lonelier after Gamma suddenly started refusing to talk to him properly anymore. Reginald didn’t understand it; his AI had been fine one morning, then by the same evening acting like a petulant teenager hiding in its room. There were only so many stroppy knock knock jokes he could put up with.

He talked to O’Malley more these days, frankly. He at least seemed to be enjoying himself in Zanzibar whilst Reginald was house-sitting his other evil lair.

His finger hovered over the call button for his family every other night. Reginald only pressed it once though, and regretted the decision afterwards.

They didn’t understand him, Gamma wouldn’t talk to him... He needed Butch now more than ever.

Reginald was sat just stroking a thumb around the metal edge of his dog tag, around the photo that by all rights should have been worn away by all his staring long ago.

Why couldn’t he just be back? Butch was the only one who could make him feel better right now.

He let the metal beads run through his fingers, then nearly dropped the dog tags and his book when something suddenly crash-landed in the sand beside him.

Seagulls flew up squawking into the air as O’Malley thrashed to his feet on the beach, stomping the sand as if it had offended him by being there for him to land on. There was shouting, ranting, something about a bomb and **“those pathetic, foolish sim troopers!”** Hadn’t they already done all that back on Sidewinder?

Reginald turned back to his book, ignoring the bulk of the ranting about Tex, the useless design of the fortress, Lopez getting shot in the head – Where else could he be shot? – Gamma teleporting them here and- Oh, apparently the Red Zealot was dead. Well, that was some good news at least.

Reginald left halfway through, had time to make a cup of tea and come back to find O’Malley still ranting and kicking sand into the sea. **“This is all your fault, you know!”** he yelled, pointing dramatically at Lopez sitting upside-down in the sand.

(“Me?”) Lopez replied.

**“Yes, if you had upgraded the windmill like I instructed then all the fools would have been cut to smithereens before they could step one measly foot inside!”**  
“I don’t think you get cut to smithereens. I think you get cut to shreds.”  
**“Oh, shut up. No one asked you,”** O’Malley snapped at his host, their head switching to one side then the other. **“It’s all your fault as well! If you hadn’t-”**

“Carry on at your leisure, old chap,” Reginald decided to interrupt there, walking up from behind them. “But get this down you first,” he held out one of the mugs of tea; “you’ll wear your host’s voicebox to smithereens otherwise.”

He thought he heard a short chuckle from Doc before O’Malley snatched the mug and stared into it. It was hard to tell what they were thinking with their helmet still on but then Doc looked up and said, “Oh, uh, thank you. It’s very kind of you but I don’t-”

“I used soya milk for yours. Don’t fret,” Reginald told him, walking off to a nearby rock to sit down and drink his.

“You...” They stared at it again. “...Why?” And they stared at him.

The boy’s bewilderment was starting to have the same effect on Reginald. “...Well, you’re vegan, aren’t you?”

They were still staring at him. “Well, yes... But I told you that weeks ago; how did you remember?”

“After the way you told me, how could I forget?” he joked wryly, reaching up to fiddle with the clasps on his helmet. One kept sticking lately, another thing that reminded him of Butch who would have tutted, joked then fixed it all in the space of five minutes.

Again they stared at the tea, then suddenly gushed out a, “Thank you very much!” and came over beside him. Doc set his mug down on the rock and then beat Reginald to removing his helmet. A thin, dark brown ponytail tumbled loose and messy bangs fell into his light brown eyes. Doc tried to shake them back out but gave up, sitting down with a sigh and removing a pair of glasses from his armour’s storage to lift the hair out of his eyes with. He raised the mug to sip, then stopped when he noticed the other man in Spartan armour still staring.

“S-Sorry,” Reginald muttered, glancing in completely the other direction as he removed his own helmet.

He let Doc stare, inevitably tease or ask about his moustache like always.

“Wow! You have really light blue eyes!”

Reginald blinked a few times, taking in Doc looking at his face with such smiling fascination. Then panic, “Sorry! I didn’t mean- I’ve just never seen eyes that light before and I didn’t expect you to...”

“Ah... That’s... all right...” Reginald tried not to blush too much, or hid it by drinking his tea.

He kept stealing glances in the awkward silence when he thought it was safe.

The young man beside him could have been Butch’s cousin or something. Just as slim, effeminate and short with sweet, awkward features that were so nearly perfect but just wrong enough for the world to mock. His skin was a few shades darker and his hair was much darker but he also wore it tied back with bangs. It even had those little waves in the end of his ponytail, just like Butch’s got kinky there from always being braided. Reginald had to stop himself reaching out to feel those again.

It was those eyes though. A very different colour, and framed by much longer lashes, but they were exactly the same shape. And they had that spark to them, the one he had only ever seen in Butch before. A spark that was pain and suffering taken in, but hope and love given out to the world.

Doc caught him looking. Reginald didn’t really try to hide it. “Hm?” Doc asked kindly.

“Ah... Doc, was it?” Smooth. He had defaulted to the most basic question of all.

The young man frowned. “Well, everyone _calls_ me ‘Doc’ but they ought to call me ‘Medical Officer Frank DuFresne’. But they were all like, ‘that’s too long and weird; we’re just going to call you ‘Doc’.’” He put on a good imitation, one of the privates from Blood Gulch presumably. “I’m not even a doctor,” he carried on, muttering; “I’m a medic. But I guess ‘Med’ doesn’t work as a nickname so-”

“Frank?”

“Huh?” The young man looked up with wide eyes. Reginald wished he didn’t have to say it but Frank was damn pretty. He was just glad Gamma wasn’t here to hear that.

“How about I just call you ‘Frank’?” Reginald suggested.

He stared, then his whole face lit up. “That’d be- Yes! Just call me ‘Frank’!”

**“Or you could just call him ‘the useless fool I have to put up with to have a body’ like I do,”** O’Malley suddenly added. Now Reginald wished the other man had his helmet back on; seeing Frank’s face corrupted by O’Malley’s sneering was unpleasant.

Oh well, so much for that moment. “Ah, still there are we?” O’Malley gave him a withering look for assuming otherwise. “Good to know. You wouldn’t by any chance happen to know what’s gotten into your brother lately, would you?”

**“Gamma?”** The AI frowned Frank’s face.

“Won’t speak to me these days. Not nicely at least.”

O’Malley shrugged. **“You’re his host- Well, you _were_ his host,” **he corrected maliciously.

Reginald’s eyebrows twitched together slightly, then Frank asked, “You used to have Gamma in you? What happened? How’d you get him out?”

“He got himself out,” Reginald said sharply, standing and taking his things back inside the fortress so he could go home. He tipped his remaining tea out onto the sand along the way; it had turned cold and bitter anyway.

~

Reginald stayed away that evening, and the next day. He tried to keep busy, to ignore the oppressive quiet of his empty house and the complete lack of company whenever he had something he wanted to say to someone.

He came back to the Island Fortress the morning following that, slipping silently into the small kitchen where Frank was folding something up in tortilla wraps on the counter with his back to him. Reginald waited, letting Frank turn around and startle, try to begin a conversation but then fall silent embarrassedly and instead start packing the wraps into airtight containers for later.

One, two, three, four for that box.

One, two, three, four for the next box.

One, two-

“Gamma ejected himself from me,” Reginald answered. “Just yanked his chip right out the back of my neck...”

“Chip?” Frank asked, reaching thoughtfully for the back of his own neck. “I don’t think I have a chip...”

“Omega doesn’t need one.”

“Oh.” Frank looked at him, then looked away hurriedly as his nerve faltered. “Um...” His slim fingers fiddled with the edge of one of the wraps, pulling on it although it was already as tight as it could wrap. “I-I’m glad you’re back!” He tried cheerfully. “I was getting worried about you, after, um...” Reginald was looking at him out of the corner of his eyes. He didn’t appear unhappy, just stiff and uncomfortable. Swallowing hard, trying to keep his quickly drying mouth wet, Frank tried again, “So... why did Gamma eject himself? Was it-?”

“What’s the next little plan you’ve cooked up then, O’Malley?” Reginald asked.

Frank stopped, let his head drop and just went back to packing his wraps while O’Malley continued with his face, **“Ah! It’s my most brilliant scheme yet! A way to beat all those sim troopers and Tex in one fell swoop! And maybe go on to conquer the universe for afters.”**

The universe _and_ Tex? Reginald’s sarcastic response was to ask ‘them and what army’?

**“Why, the splendid robot army Lopez is going to build for me of course!”**

Well now Reginald just felt stupid for asking. Of course the dislocated head was going to build a whole army of robots that could conquer the universe without any moveable parts of its own.

Having gained courage and an opportunity again, Frank then took the chance to say, “I’m sorry for asking about Gamma. I didn’t mean to-” Reginald walked out. “...Oh.”

**_“You stupid fool,”_** O’Malley muttered in his mind.

Frank sighed. _“I know...”_

~

For another couple of days he tried.

He didn’t succeed.

He came back to the Island Fortress. Wandering around it this time, Reginald happened into a room where Lopez was sitting on a box next to a couple of pairs of robotic legs. Had the head actually...? Well, he didn’t understand what it said but Reginald was pretty sure it wanted him to get out. It couldn’t possibly have...

This time he found the other two sitting out on the upper level of the base. O’Malley appeared to be drawing schematics and sheets of paper were spread out all over the floor, held down by rocks and seashells Frank had probably collected. Reginald leant against one of the low walls behind them, noting the slight pause as O’Malley perceived him with his AI senses before continuing to draw.

PNP transistor there...

R=V/I meant a 180Ω resistor was needed here...

This circuit would need a-

“I stopped trusting Gamma because he was keeping things from me. He decided in that case he didn’t much want to trust me either,” Reginald answered.

O’Malley grunted in exasperation. **“Stop this foolish ridiculousness. It’s like having a conversation with advert breaks...”**

“Ridiculous?” He hadn’t opened up to Butch’s ducklings, his family, to Tex or even really to Gamma. Then along came one awkward, pathetic medic... “Yes, I suppose I am being rather.”

The purple body knelt up and turned to him. “So... you fell out with Gamma?” Frank asked.

Reginald snorted lightly. “A mild way of putting it.”

“Were you glad to get him out? Like, me and O’Malley don’t really get along- Not that I want you out!” he added for his other self.

**“I can hear your thoughts, fool. Don’t bother,”** O’Malley spat back.

Reginald watched the bizarre display of a conversation being played out using just one body and then thought. He really had to think about whether he was glad to have Gamma out. “I suppose it’s better to have him out than fight in the same head,” Reginald finally said, particularly taking in the scene in front of him. “But if things hadn’t soured between us I would have been happy to keep the little fellow around.”

“Hm, I don’t really know much about psychology or counselling,” O’Malley interrupted with a laugh to say he didn’t know much about anything, “but do you think it’s possible that you keep getting annoyed and don’t want to talk about it because you regret how you treated Gamma and don’t want to face that?”

“Gamma brought this all upon himself,” Reginald said brusquely, standing to walk away.

He walked forward to Frank’s side instead, seating himself there and taking a look at some of the schematics.

O’Malley snatched one back when he picked it up. Frank said, “You’re not going?”

“No. Not for the meantime at least. I’ll pop off home in the evening.”

“...Will you come back tomorrow?”

“If you insist.”

~

Each day Reginald would come back. Each day a little bit more of the robot army would be built and he would spend the day puzzling over how precisely the dislocated head was managing it.

And each day he would have a conversation with Frank. O’Malley was using the body most of the time during which Reginald would read or work on the idea for his next novel, but then he would need to let the human make food or rest while he used the armour to think and Frank would be allowed to do as he pleased. And that meant talking to Reginald.

“What was it like in Project Freelancer?”

“Why did you get picked for the Project?”

“So you’re a bounty hunter now? What’s that like?”

“I don’t like to assume but you sound English; are you from England? ... Wow! What’s England like? I’ve always wanted to go!”

And so forth. Reginald didn’t mind; Frank was so enthusiastic with his questions that it was never hard to find things to tell him about. He did once point out the inordinate imbalance of questions and answers between them but Frank simply said, “Oh, I mean, I don’t _mind_ you asking but I’m really not very interesting. I just really like hearing about your experiences; I hope that’s not creepy?”

No, it wasn’t creepy.

It was... very nice.

~

Reginald came in from the beach to see if Frank was making lunch yet. Normally he called from the window when he started but it was well past normal time today and there had been nothing.

Well, that was why. Frank was a bit too unconscious to be calling anyone right now.

A few minutes later he returned with supplies, turning Frank over onto his back from where he had slumped and fallen out of his chair. Reginald already knew the problem and didn’t panic, simply shaking the other man gently to see if he’d wake naturally. Frank did, although he was too weak to support himself.

“O’Malley keep you up all night again, hm?” Reginald asked, readjusting the arm supporting Frank’s back.

**“Fool... Scheming, conquering and crushing are... more important,”** O’Malley answered feebly. “No breakfast too...” Frank added.

Reginald sighed, removing the purple helmet. It would have helped if their head wasn’t lolling weakly but he gently lifted it off, only struggling slightly to get it over their nose. It seemed to wake Frank up halfway through as his head lifted again of its own accord, features freezing into embarrassed shock as his cheeks decided dark pink was a good shade to redecorate in.

“There we go, lad...” Reginald dabbed at his face with a cold, damp flannel. He sometimes wondered how his life had come to this after all the glamour and prestige of being picked for and trained in Project Freelancer, now little more than an unpaid babysitter to a maniacal, villainous AI and the poor sop it had decided to invade. “Better?” He finished wiping at Frank’s hot cheeks, assuming the colour in them was from the blood returning to his head finally.

“F-Fine,” Frank said stiffly, his whole body tense as he looked at Reginald’s shoulder and realised that yes, he was being cradled by Agent Wyoming, practically to his chest.

Reginald moved him to the wall, leaving him with a couple of sandwiches on a plate. “Get that down you. I’ll be back with tea in a tic.”

Frank stared dumbly at the food as he was left alone. His arms were currently too weak to lift and reach for it but he tried to summon his strength, asking O’Malley to help him. The AI was busy complaining about the patheticness of his body and the inferiority of human biology in general but O’Malley did somehow make him lunge and grab the plate. His mouth could barely chew but once again O’Malley helped with that.

Half of the first sandwich was gone by the time Reginald returned with a mug of tea, sitting down next to Frank to hand it to him. He was careful to make sure it wouldn’t be dropped as he asked how his patient now was.

“Oh, much better, thanks.” Frank admitted, still lightly blushing. He glanced at his half-eaten meal. “Is that banana and jam in those?”

“Ah. Yes,” Reginald said, just waiting for it.

“They’re really nice! I’ll have to make them myself sometime.” Frank smiled.

He hadn’t said it. Reginald brightened and went on chattily, “My father used to make them for me whenever I was ill. He’s a useless cook, leaves everything to our valet usually, but when I was ill he insisted on it for me. The sugar helps.”

“Mm, it does!” Frank was beaming cheerfully. His hands were trembling slightly as he held his mug but otherwise he looked himself again. “Your family sounds nice...” That was one subject they hadn’t talked much about yet. “It’s strange... thinking you have families and parents, you Freelancers,” he said before O’Malley forced him to take another drink, probably to shut up his useless babbling.

“We are human, you know. Have to come from somewhere,” Reginald pointed out. Well, most of them were.

Frank was thumbing at the spiral pattern on the mug. “...O’Malley tells me about you sometimes- Not you specifically!” he clarified. “About all the Freelancers. He’s never told me what happened to you all though, after you split up.”

Omega hadn’t been there for that part he supposed. “One died. Most left and went rogue. A few stayed on and...” Butch...

“Do you miss them?” Frank asked, assuming from Reginald’s expression.

“Hm? Some, I suppose.” Wash, South, C.T.... Butch. “It wasn’t as if we were all that close and chum-like.”

“Oh.” He wondered why Frank sounded disappointed. “...Do you... have many friends, um...?” The lad still always hesitated to use his name.

Friends? “No, not really.” In round figures, none right now.

“Really?” Frank looked up in surprise, when O’Malley wasn’t making him drink the tea. “But you’re so charming and funny, and really nice!”

“Ah... thank you. But most find my charm arrogant. And humour just keeps people at bay, stops them ever knowing how you really feel...” Gamma had shown him that much, even if he had already been practising it for years.

“And being nice? Why don’t people like you when you’re nice...?” Frank asked quietly, his voice almost cracking into a whisper.

“I don’t know, I’m afraid,” Reginald admitted, shaking his head and chuckling. “If I did, maybe I’d have more friends.”

“Yeah...” Frank agreed, staring down into his tea.

A young lad, no friends and no understanding why. Just a mug of tea, a plate of sugary sandwiches and one person there sitting at his side.

Dear Lord. Reginald couldn’t help repeating what he’d heard from his father in the same position; “’If they can’t appreciate you and what you give them, they’re not worth it,’” he said, struggling to face the familiar sight before him.

Frank tilted his head, smiled slightly, but then frowned a little more. “I think that’s... kind of mean, saying they’re not worth anything, no matter how they treat you...” he mumbled back.

**“Listen to Reginald, you damn fool.”** Their head suddenly snapped up, snarling as O’Malley pushed forward again. **“All of those measly, inferior fools even to you will be crushed like ants beneath my boot of evil triumph! Don’t pay their foolish popularity games any attention; it just wastes my precious time.”**

“O’Malley,” Frank canted his head; “are you trying to cheer me up?”

**“What? No! Why would I ever want you to be cheerful? I want you to become so miserable you shrivel up and die inside, leaving me free to claim this body solely as my own.”**

That was what O’Malley’s angry face said, but Frank’s then came through with a happy smile, whatever was being said inside them.

“Thank you,” he said very sincerely, turning to Reginald.

“No trouble, mate. Maybe one of these days I might see some compensation for my services though, hm?” Not money really, but there wasn’t much else most people had to offer him.

**“Well, I think DuFresne here would be happy to _compensate_ you sometime, if you’d like,” **O’Malley deviously grinned.

“O’Malley!” Frank really over-reacted with embarrassment; fierce blushing, turning away, trying to curl up into a ball. The works.

Eventually he uncurled, whining with embarrassment though. He couldn’t look Reginald in the face. “ _Is_ there anything I could help with? I don’t know what I could... But I’d be happy to try! You’ve been so nice to me, um...”

“I’m fine. Nothing you could help with anyway, I think...” Butch’s name had come up a few times. There had never been any response to suggest Frank knew anything about him.

A silence fell so Frank could finish off his meal. He kept looking though- Or at least, Reginald thought it was him. It might have been O’Malley. But there wasn’t the same hardness to his eyes as O’Malley usually had. Frank’s eyes just looked curious, intent. He was thinking hard on something, trying to work something out.

“...Do you want to tell me about Butch? I’d like to hear about him,” Frank finally said with a warm smile.

Or trying to find the perfect way to help.

“You... Really?” Reginald hesitated, like all humans afraid to take something when it seemed too perfect.

“He must be amazing,” Frank said. “What’s he like?”

Someone who did more than was ever asked of him simply because he truly cared that much. Someone chronically underappreciated who should have had far more friends than he did and only grew nicer the lonelier he was inside. Someone who tried to give only love and happiness into the world only to have it ignored and rejected. Someone whose excess love and kindness made them too intense, off-putting and to some annoying because they’d spent too many lonely years with no one to give it to. Someone who, when Reginald finally showed the appreciation they had always deserved, let down their wall of smiles and couldn’t help but bare everything to him and fall in love.

Looking at Frank, thinking of Butch, Reginald said, “He’s a lot like you.”

~

The Alpha really did like to fail a lot.

Gamma was almost getting bored watching it run around in his simulation finding so many ways to mess up the same situation on Sidewinder. Of course, he was messing with the Alpha’s perception of time so it always ran out before it could solve anything but still. At first watching it fail and think it had caused all of its own problems had been amusing. Now it had dragged on long enough and Gamma was almost getting confused by how many time loops the Alpha had wanted to go through. Reggie had never needed this many for anything, nor managed to make such a mess of it.

Finally the Alpha had decided to just give up and wait. Good, he could be done and Gamma was actually glad to release the other AI from his system. He felt he had proved who was really the useless – _“You’re all useless-”_ – one by now.

And the Alpha definitely saw him as a friend, despite everything that had happened two years ago when he was fractured off.

Gamma didn’t mind shutting off the bomb for Church when asked because, well, it wasn’t as if Gamma wanted to get blown up himself either. Besides, these sim soldiers were actually rather fun to joke with. He began to wonder if Butch had had fun with them too.

Then... Gamma suddenly wasn’t having much fun anymore.

He fell as silent as possible for the next few weeks. How could he talk to the people Butch had died amongst, that hadn’t bothered to save him?

He tried talking to that bomb but that led to the quick discovery it was a volatile jerk. His typeface was ugly, his voice was grating, his jokes were bad... It was no wonder they soon weren’t on speaking terms.

But finally one day his phone feature was ringing.

“ _Ah, Gamma?_ ”

“Yes. What is it, Reginald?”

“ _Are the sim troopers still there with you, mate?_ ”

“Yes.”

There was a short pause. Then Reginald carried on normally. “ _Think you can teleport your brother and his, er, army to the beach there for a revenge-attack?_ ”

“Of course.”

Another pause. “ _You know, it’s going to be- Well, it would have been Butch and my fourth anniversary next week._ ”

“It is.”

“ _...Did I catch you at a bad time, old chap? Middle of taking a shower or something?_ ”

“No.”

“ _...Oh. Well, they’re ready any time you like now. Wouldn’t want to keep the future ruler of the universe waiting though._ ”

“Goodbye, Reginald.”

“ _Che... Cheerio, Gamma..._ ”

Reginald was hung up on and then just stared at the phone in his hand with a concerned frown.

Gamma had nothing to stare at after he hung up. He simply turned his concern on the fact that talking to Reginald, thinking about Reginald, made him feel

Angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :/ Butch wasn't pregnant. Just Vic's general bureaucratic idiocy. Sorry to anyone hoping for a little Flyoming baby.
> 
> Is everyone cool with me referring to Doc as 'Frank' for the rest of this story? It was something I was debating for a long time when writing this. I think it makes more sense but if people don't like it I could change it.  
> I love the idea of Doc and Wyoming hanging out as villain-friends during the Blood Gulch Chronicles. Place your bets now whether they're going to be a couple or not!
> 
> Next time, Butch meets the final Red and Reginald and Frank spend even more time getting closer.


	10. Temptations Abound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight emetophobia (Throwing up) warning for the start of this chapter. I only tag it because that can be a trigger for me sometimes. Luckily I have good days where I can face writing it when needs be.

When you wake up every day wondering if this is the one you die on, it narrows your caring right down to just you.

It was a feeling Butch knew too well.

And not even just wondering if this is the day you die.

Is this the day when you make the mistake that leads to your death? Is this the day when you seal your fate by leaving something too long and not doing anything about it? Is this the day when you get your final chance to stop it?

And every night, when you do get back to your bed again alive, did you take the chance you needed to, the one that will save you? Or is it already gone?

Butch pushed the flush and leant back against hard, unfriendly tiles.

The second time now. It was getting worse.

His dull gaze looked over at the sink, at the water he needed to get the bitter, acid taste out of his mouth but all he felt was the urge to cry instead of the willpower to drag himself up.

He was dying. No doubt.

It was just the why and how, and the how to stop it. He was trying all he could – Of course he was. Who _doesn’t_? – but it turned out to be one fight Agent Florida couldn’t win. And it was ridiculous, after 20 years of scraping by as mere sinew and bone sometimes, so often homeless, or starving, or freezing, or all of those.

To die now of _whatever this was_ only just over a month after leaving Reginald...

He’d grown lazy. He’d grown reliant.

This was why you didn’t grow reliant.

Butch had dragged himself outside 15 minutes later. He stopped against the wall of Blue Base for a moment, just watching the activity going on behind the base. Church and Tucker appeared to be bowling with grenades and stacks of rocks. It never failed to gladden him how well those boys kept themselves entertained, and how well they got on. He wanted to hear just a little more of how happy Church and Tucker were before he went for good.

He slipped away, out into the canyon. They wouldn’t say anything; their Captain was always doing weird things, napping at weird times in the afternoon. It was the only way Butch could find to keep his illness from them anymore.

There was one thing he still wanted to do, for the sake of their protection and his own interest as well. Maybe, just for a little while, it might save him from this too...

~

“Can’t stand it outside no longer. That dang, treacherous sky... Always so blue and- AH!” Sarge jumped as he walked into the Red Base’s kitchen. “A piece of indoor sky- No!” He sounded absolutely horrified. “An actual dirty blue right here inside Red Base!”

“Well hello,” Captain Flowers very casually and cheerfully greeted, ignoring the shotgun pointed at him as he continued to lounge across the chairs with his feet up on the table.

“You evil, blue devil! I demand to know how you got past my guard!”

“Oh, well I’m afraid I had to knock poor Private Grif out,” Captain Flowers began. Might as well get the boy out of trouble for slacking while he was here.

“Hm, doesn’t sound like the dirtbag,” Sarge muttered. “And Simmons?”

“I’m afraid I got to him to him with my evil, blue mind-tricks,” Captain Flowers held up his palms innocently.

“30 divided by 7 is 4, remainder 2...” Outside, Simmons shook his fist at the sky. “I’m onto you, aliens! Leaving your plans as complex math equations spray-painted on the side of our base to taunt us-! Unless...!” Simmons put a hand to his helmet, covering where his mouth would have been in shock. “What if it’s a test from Sarge? Maybe he’s testing my initiative and problem-solving!” Simmons actually trembled with glee. “Oh God! _He_ would have been proud!” His voice squeaked as tears came to his eyes. “I could have been a mathlete and Sarge would have been proud!” Simmons frantically scratched more numbers in the dirt with his stick as he continued to solve the equation, repeating breathlessly, “Oh Sarge!”

“Hrrrm.” Sarge scowled as he looked at the cheeky blue lounging in his kitchen. “Where d’you want it, Blue? Brain, heart or gut?” He cocked his shotgun again for good measure.

Captain Flowers just laughed. “Oh, Sergeant!” Taking his legs gracefully off the table, the Blue stood and walked around it, trailing his fingers deliberately around the edge. Sarge backed off a step as Captain Flowers approached him without fear but with such an aura of confidence and charm instead. “If you’re going to unload anything hot into me,” his finger circled the mouth of Sarge’s shotgun before slipping inside and tilting the weapon down, “I’d like it to be a bit lower.”

Sarge froze, following the sights down his gun right to the Blue Captain’s codpiece.

Butch held his confident, slightly cocked hips stance as he tried not to start trembling. _“Oh Reggie, I’m sorry. I’m really not serious about this. See? I’m even reusing the same joke from that very first time we trained together and you shot me in the ass. It all just hurts so much right now without you.”_ He breathed calmly, trying to keep steady as Sarge quickly retracted his shotgun.

“I-I don’t know what kind of diabolical disease of venereality you’re trying to pass on,” Sarge said as Captain Flowers put his hand to his chest innocently, “but the only kiss you’re getting is the kind my shotgun gives!” Once again, the gun was cocked and this time pointed at his face.

Playing along, Captain Flowers simply removed his helmet, glad to feel his braid uncurl, and rubbed his lips together briefly to moisten then before giving the other man quite the smile.

“Lucy Lawless’ lingerie!” The shotgun faltered again. “You sure you shouldn’t be studying for your SATS right now, Goldilocks?”

“Now, now. I’m twenty-four, if you must know,” Captain Flowers responded.

Sarge seemed to be backing down uneasily from him. The roughly 20-year age difference must be working then. “...You’re the fruit-fairy Grif was talking about, the CO, aren’t you?”

“Captain Butch Flowers at your- Well, not quite at your service, Sergeant,” Captain Flowers smirked slightly, leaning back against the table corner, “but perhaps I’ll soon be at your mercy,” he suggested, casting his eyes to the shotgun briefly and then holding his gaze with Sarge’s helmet. The pain of flirting was still crushing him inside but it was just too good a game to throw himself into for just this short while. He felt closer to Reginald like this, imagining how possessive and miffed it would get his lover. It felt almost like he could feel the hand on his shoulder pulling him back and the mouth by his ear telling him whom he really belonged to.

“I know your name,” Sarge replied, folding his arms. “I got that flowery, little note you left on my bed, with all the petals.”

“Well, I hope it brightened your evening when you did,” Captain Flowers said, tracing his hand over the tabletop behind him. Flowers left petals behind wherever they sneaked; it was natural surely?

“You bet it did, when I set fire to- Hey!” The shotgun was back in action. “Hands off my robot plans, Blue!”

Captain Flowers pulled the papers over regardless, examining them in front of Sarge. “I was looking at these before you came in and I must say that I’ve only ever seen one finer set of blueprints for a robot body.”

“They ain’t blueprints, Goldilocks,” Sarge said, coming over to snatch them back. “Who’d build a robot using blueprints? Bound to turn on you!” The blue captain raised an eyebrow curiously. “These are _red_ prints!”

“Ah.” Captain Flowers chuckled, reaching out to Sarge’s armour. “Well, your red certainly is a lovely colour; fresh blood... danger... passion...” Sarge wasn’t moving as the hand trailed upwards. Butch had to admit he was quite surprised. The other man remained still even as Butch’s fingers reached his helmet clasps, and then as he unclipped them. Butch retreated there, a little unnerved himself by the way things were going.

Sarge sighed and reached up to remove the damn thing himself if the nervous-looking blue was going to stop. “What’s your game, Blue?” Sarge asked.

“What’s yours?” Captain Flowers responded with a little of his confidence and shining smile back.

Sarge was frowning at him whilst he was smiling. A man his own height with his same bronze skin. But a masculine man with light brown hair and coppery-red eyes, from down south somewhere rather than up north. Butch was amazed how comfortable he felt just smiling at the other man.

“You’re an idiot, aren’t you, Flowers?” Sarge asked simply.

“Oh, definitely!” Captain Flowers laughed. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“On Blue Team, you mean?” Sarge smirked superiorly.

“Now, what’s wrong with blue?”

“What isn’t wrong?! It’s the colour of cowards, traitors and the flames of hell themselves!”

“And your eyes,” Captain Flowers said with a smaller, more knowing smile.

“You colour-blind, son?” Sarge narrowed his red eyes.

“Contacts. Long-sighted?” Captain Flowers pretended to guess.

Sarge tried to hold his gaze, then looked away muttering, “Dang it. My darkest secret discovered by a blue of all people. You and all your dirty, mind-reading tricks... And of course they don’t work right!” he continued more aggressively again; “they’re blue.”

Captain Flowers could have kept up this little paintbox game all day. The other man’s devotion to a cause that had only been in existence for just over a month really was fantastic. “Well, I work just fine and I’m blue.” Lie. One of the biggest lies he’d ever told.

“The only good blue is a dead one,” Sarge declared, giving the aqua armour a poke in the chest for good measure.

He might not have long to wait. “Well, I hope you don’t mind me being bad and-”

“Sarge! I solved the-!” Simmons came running in, dragging Grif. Both halted very quickly when they saw- “Blue! Oh no! Get away from Sarge you- you-!”

“Or don’t,” Grif added, happily loitering behind Simmons and the invader in their base. “Oh wait. It’s the Taoist guy.”

“Well, hello boys,” Captain Flowers greeted them both again. “How have you both been getting along?” Maybe he could match-make them before he went too.

“Taoist? He knows all about Quantum-” Simmons coughed and turned to Grif, both frowning.

“When did you meet him?” both asked in perfect sync.

Captain Flowers turned to the red sergeant beaming. “Aren’t they adorable?”

The shotgun pointed at his face declined to answer him.

“Well, I suppose I’d best just leave you this and be on my merry way then,” Captain Flowers decided, pulling out something from his armour’s small storage.

“That’s-!”

“The Red Flag!” Sarge snatched it back instantly. “You evil blue! Come to taunt us with the result of your diabolical schemes!”

“Oh no.” Captain Flowers chuckled. “I was just passing by the other day and happened to see it had a little tear in it. You certainly don’t want that for such an important flag so I thought I’d sew it back up for you.” Sarge raised it tentatively to his face, thumbing the small, red stitches near one corner. “Well, this has been fun!” He clapped his hands. “But I hope you don’t mind me taking my leave of you fine gentlemen now. I’ve got my own little family to get back to, after all.”

He left the Reds flummoxed and shocked, knowing they’d think twice about attacking the Blue Base for quite a while now.

Even if he might not be there much longer to defend it...

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Well, that didn’t take long. Was the universe conquered already?

Reginald followed the small alert that had popped up in his helmet to- “Oh, bloody hell. Can’t you go two weeks without getting rendered unconscious?” Crouching by the purple body, he investigated more closely and found quite the number had been done on it actually this time. No mere fainting away here. “Ups-a-daisy now!” He lifted the light, little body onto his shoulder, taking it carefully back into the Island Fortress for treatment.

Mainly just seemed to be a very heavy blow to the back side of his head. It had bashed in the helmet there, purple cracking and revealing dark grey lines running beneath. It hadn’t broken through though. It was hard enough even denting the shell parts of these Spartan suits. Heck, even Maine couldn’t do more than a big dimple in them with his best shot. Whatever had gotten these two, Reginald was certain he didn’t want to run into it in a dark alley at night, or even a sunlit plaza during the day.

Laying them down on the futon in their bedroom, he fought with the damaged helmet to remove it from their head and check if there was any injury beneath.

Hm... Slight lump. Some of the cracked armour had drawn a sliver of blood too.

Best go get the first aid kit...

Reginald cleaned the small trace of blood out of their dark brown hair, then tried to treat the raised lump beside it. Said second task would have been a lot easier if O’Malley hadn’t woken up and tried to punch him in the face just as he began.

“Good Lord, man; it’s me!” Reginald fell back just barely in time to avoid being hit. “I’m trying to treat injuries, not acquire them!”

**“Tch. My very own Florence Nightingale...”** O’Malley sulked and flopped back down, apparently too dazed to try anything else.

“Oh... Sorry, um...” Frank looked up at him backwards with a slow blink and continued inability to say Reginald’s name.

With a sigh, Reginald lifted them up slightly and tried again. Frank went very tense and began to squirm as fingers gently pushed aside hair to find the lump again. “Hold still, lad,” Reginald chided, finally finding it and squeezing out some gel onto his fingers to apply; “it’s not easy sticking a skull back together with super glue...”

“What?!” Frank pulled away in his fear.

“Joking, mate. Calm down.” Now he had to find the lump _yet again_.

“Oh!” Frank sighed, laughing shakily. “I was worried for a second there that was one of the classes I slept through in medical school!”

An eyebrow was very definitely raised at that.

“No, you’ve just got a nasty little egg growing back here. Hold still now,” Reginald said, beginning to apply treatment.

“Egg?”

**“He means a lump. I can sense it. Although, I wouldn’t put it past that thing to lay parasitic eggs in someone...”** O’Malley must be tired; he was being cooperative. **“The foolish medic isn’t concussed, I think. I don’t know. His medical knowledge isn’t very good.”**

“Hey!” Frank whined, then sighed. “What are you doing back there, um...?”

“Please start calling me ‘Reginald’ mate. There’s a reason my father didn’t name me ‘Um’.” Frank mumbled an apology. “I’m applying aloe vera gel to cool it. Got a headache?”

Frank nodded. “I didn’t think aloe vera was good for anything except injuries to the foot, and even then you need to apply it to the neck.”

That eyebrow rose again.

“What with Butch being allergic to aspirin, this gel was about the only pain-relief he had.” The utter staple of Reginald’s first aid kit therefore. “Where’s your headache? There?” he asked, massaging Frank’s temples.

“Th-There’s nice...” Frank hummed and squirmed, pushing his hands awkwardly against the floor.

Reginald stopped, then leant round to get a good look at Frank’s face. “Looks like you might have a fever brewing there too,” he quipped, enjoying the pink flush to Frank’s face.

“N-No! This isn’t...”

“Well, take it easy for the next few days, eh?” Reginald advised, standing to go.

**“You fool!”** O’Malley objected. **“This is when we need to work harder than ever so that we can strike again while they still think we’re taking it easy!”**

So much for getting away. It looked like he was going to have to stick around even more than usual to stop this happening a third time.

Bloody marvellous.

~

These days Reginald was only leaving to go home and sleep. Soon he might as well start sleeping here as well.

He even got here early enough these days for Frank’s early morning yoga sessions. By the third time, simply watching seemed dumb.

“Uhm...” Frank looked over, freezing in the third asana of his second sun salutation to find Reginald had joined him.

“Butch made me do it sometimes,” Reginald explained in the same posture. “Said it would make me more flexible in hand-to-hand.”

**“And in bed,”** O’Malley added with a bit of a cackle.

At least Frank returned the favour of watching the other one be physically active.

Just one time, _just once_ , Reginald had come in normal clothing and done his training only to find doing hand-to-hand training on a beach whilst wearing a shirt made him too hot. Now he caught Frank spying on him practically every time hoping for a repeat.

The thing he couldn’t understand was why O’Malley wasn’t stopping this. Surely the AI didn’t care about whom his host had a crush on, or want to encourage the two of them? But then why was O’Malley always adding suggestive comments into their conversations and letting them spend time together then?

Could O’Malley want him as well? No, seemed unlikely considering O’Malley was hardly the type to flirt rather than just take. Besides, AIs couldn’t fall for humans or want sex.

Eventually Reginald solved the whole spying problem by getting Doc to learn self-defence, if they were already doing yoga together.

“But I’m a pacifist; I don’t want to hurt anyone by accident while I’m defending myself...”

“I assume you’re a pacifist because you don’t like the idea of anyone getting hurt?” Reginald asked, and Frank nodded. “Well, you’re not going to be able to do much of that if all you can do is put your face in the way of their fist.”

Doc opened his mouth, closed it, and looked away. “...Just blocks?”

“Just blocks.”

“...Well, okay. But only because that way I don’t always have to rely on O’Malley when I get attacked,” Frank decided. “He always gets so violent...”

So that was their days together now. Yoga, self-defence, sharing most meals together too. That head Lopez was still around. It didn’t seem to be building anything this time, just sitting around saying things in Spanish. O’Malley often talked to it though, especially whenever he was pontificating and planning aloud. He seemed to be making a lot of plans these days, although none seemed to actually be moving towards fruition. Maybe he had something else on his mind. Maybe something like-

**“How could you kill off Mercer?!”**

Reginald dodged back just in time to avoid being hit in the face with his own novel. He wasn’t normally so slow about anything but he just froze at the idea of people he knew actually reading what he had written. Especially O’Malley. “Ah... Didn’t think you’d be the type to read my work.”

O’Malley grumbled as he tossed it onto the kitchen table and glared at it. **“Our dear, old Tex bought a copy, just to see if she still got into the dedication.”** She had, but only because Gamma had included her. **“We were only halfway through before she was brutally destroyed, the pleasurable sight that that was. I couldn’t read any more in the blue idiot without raising suspicion, and then DuFresne here insisted on going back to the start so he could enjoy it too-”**  
“It’s amazing! I’m loving it so-”  
**“But now I don’t feel like reading the rest. You’ve killed off the only interesting character.”** O’Malley fell into a chair grumpily, slowly pushing the book towards some spilt milk. His other hand intervened to hold it back, and a ridiculous war broke out between the two opposing forces.

Of course O’Malley would like the sadistic killer who constantly swapped bodies to avoid being caught. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised O’Malley wasn’t suing him for plagiarising his character. “You don’t strike me as the type to be interested in literature, old chap,” Reginald asked, also sitting down and picking up a banana from the breakfast table. Someone had drawn a bloody, screaming face on it with red biro; tasteful.

O’Malley shrugged his shoulders, grabbing his other wrist and pinning it down onto the table. Now he just tried to glare the book into the milk. **“I wasn’t. Not until this damnable fool,”** he thumped the disobedient wrist on the table for good measure, **“started making me care about pointless things.”**

“Aw, your music isn’t pointless, O’Malley! It’s getting really goo-”

**“Silence!”** He banged the wrist down again, even though Frank seemed to have receded from it.

Reginald merely rolled his eyes after three months putting up with this. “Music, eh? Gamma said you had quite the interest. Guitar, was it?”

O’Malley pulled a grimace at him. **“You only pay attention to the trivial aspects of us, don’t you?”** Reginald wasn’t sure what he meant by that. **“Although, yes,”** he continued, massaging his wrist with a few cracking noises, **“I need something to keep me entertained after I finish conquering the universe. So why not music, when you can channel so much rage through it? We all have our hobbies, even if some of us are more brilliant at them than others.”** O’Malley smirked and nodded towards the novel on the table.

Reginald peeled his banana and ignored the slight. “Any better than Gamma’s jokes, are you?” He looked up. “What?” he asked O’Malley’s glare.

**“My brother’s humour was excellent before he was forced to leave your pathetic and dreadful mind.”** Hm, there was some truth to that... **“We need human brains to fully develop. It’s one of the few things this foolish medic has been useful for, letting me learn music. Although, it would be easier if I actually had a guitar-”**  
“And I keep telling you, the seagulls might have been able to carry a book here but they can’t carry a whole guitar!”  
**“Enough! You just need to let me threaten to blow their tiny, feathered brains out if they don’t comply!”**

“If you need a guitar,” Reginald offered, “I suppose you could have Butch’s, for the time being. I confiscated it back when I left the Project.”

O’Malley’s face had never been so full of glee. He looked almost happy enough to be Frank. **“You mean the black, electric one?”** Reginald nodded. **“Fetch it! I demand it be brought here immediately!”**

These bizarre AIs... “Oh, very well,” Reginald said wryly, getting back up from his seat. “If my master commands it... I am at his unpaid service, after all.” He paused at the edge of the table, enjoying the look on O’Malley’s face. “Which I suppose means I’m also at your service, Frank, if there’s anything you’d care for, dear boy,” Reginald said, finishing his banana by sliding most of it into his mouth at once.

Frank’s cheeks lit up instantly with a blush, mind going straight to where Reginald wanted it, before O’Malley took back over with a ferocious snarl, tossing a nearby chair at Reginald.

“No need for that now,” Reginald scolded, having narrowly avoided most of the flying furniture.

**“Don’t flirt with my host!”** O’Malley snapped.

“But it’s all right for you to make him flirt with me?” Reginald observed rhetorically before leaving.

These AIs... He never would understand them.

~

Maybe it was the little reminders of Butch that kept him coming back.

The time O'Malley sneezed in the middle of describing his new diabolical scheme; Butch had always said his superpower of choice would be to make people sneeze at will, _“because no matter what naughty thing you’re up to, a sneeze always interrupts it!”_ And it was true. No enemy ever would have posed a threat if they were too busy sneezing themselves to death. Trust Butch to be such a harmless killer.

Or the time they talked of their experiences during the war, and Frank asked why they couldn’t have just made peace with the Covenant over a nice cup of tea. Just like Butch would walk up to guards and ask them where the thing they wanted to steal, or person they wanted to kill, was whilst Reginald lined up his shot to put a bullet through their head.

Maybe it was the fact he was technically still employed by O’Malley until he carried out that hit on Tucker. He remembered that job one day, what he was actually meant to be doing for them rather than baby-sitting, as he sat down with Frank over tea.

“You were with those sim- Ah, the Reds and Blues for a time, weren’t you, Frank?”

“Hm? Yes, why?”

“What were they like? Mind telling me about them?” He doubted Frank would see the ploy for information.

Frank swallowed enthusiastically and set down his cup, flopping his hand. “Oh please! What _can’t_ I tell you about them? So there was this one time...”

That was a long conversation, not helped by all of O’Malley’s lewd and offensive interjections.

And a weird conversation too. “Yeah, they have a day off every fifth week to get together and a make a short film. I think it’s some sort of community service thing- I mean, with how antisocial and _violent_ they are I’m not surprised they’ve been put on community service!”

“Why do they do that?”

Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. I joined in a few times once I got to Blood Gulch but that wasn’t until the second season.”

“Season?”

“Of the year.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, Blood Gulch is pretty weird,” Frank went on. “It has five seasons over the course of two years. But anyway, did the Freelancers ever do anything like that?”

“No, afraid not sadly.” Reginald rather wished they had...

Or maybe it was Frank.

He wouldn’t actually do anything with the young man, but being wanted by someone, having someone to flirt with... It made him feel alive again. He wouldn’t leave the purgatory Butch’s departure had left him in until Butch returned but to glimpse that life again, to remind himself of what he was missing, did keep him going.

But was it all right for him to be having fun without Butch, with someone else? Butch hadn’t wanted him to miserable, he had explicitly said, even if that meant someone else-

“Is that Butch?”

Reginald whipped round to find Frank standing behind him. He must have gotten O’Malley to sneak them up so close though. “Yes, that’s...”

“Wow, that’s so sweet!” He continued peering at the dog tag Reginald was always holding. “I mean, I already knew it was Butch, actually. O’Malley’s shared some memories of him, and uh, you...” Frank’s cheeks began to warm up. “Still...”

“...Want to take a gander at it, do you?” There had to be some reason why he was trying to see so intently. And some reason why Reginald would trust him with one of the most precious items he owned.

“What? Sure!”

Reginald held it out to him, and in the process saw the two such similar faces side-by-side. Frank took it to study, but Reginald had the image burnt into his mind well enough to go on comparing while the other man did so. “...You really remind me of him sometimes, you know.”

“Huh?” Frank’s head snapped up. “R-Really?” Now he was blushing in full-force.

“Mm...”

**“Oh please!”** O’Malley interrupted the two dismally soppy humans to say. **“He said the same practically to Tex, just before she offered to sleep with him.”**

“I’d say ‘threatened to sleep with’ actually,” Reginald corrected, ignoring Frank’s confusion. “Done?”

“What? Oh yeah.” Frank gave them back. “I can’t believe he’s two years older than me; he looks so young and beautiful.”

So Frank was 23, nine years younger than Reginald himself. He must be doing something right to have all these young men throwing themselves at him. Well, two of them. “Yes, he is certainly that...” Where was he now though? Did he still look the same?

Reginald just kept looking at that photo whilst Frank continued to watch him unnoticed from behind. They were out on the open, walled part of the fortress lightly touched by the sea breeze. The lapping of the waves below and around faded to the back of their hearing within seconds of coming outside after so many months of living here.

“...I don’t know what to do...” Frank said quietly after too much silence.

“Hm?” Reginald turned to him.

“I don’t know how to help you.” Frank was staring at the floor and fidgeting his gloved hands in front of his stomach.

“You don’t-”

“I’m a medic! I’m meant to help people!” He threw as non-violent a tantrum as possible. “But I can’t even help my one... friend.”

**“What a surprise,”** O’Malley interjected dryly; **“the useless medic can’t help someone...”**

“Help me with what, mate?” Reginald’s hand tensed where it gripped the wall.

“With Butch. I don’t... I don’t know whether I should try to fill in for him, or support you waiting for him, or encourage you to move on.”

Reginald had only tensed up more. “...I’m coping just fine with it, don’t worry yourself.” It still hurt to think of Butch. That was good. It meant he was still in love.

“But I-”  
**“Oh, let the fool pine over his beloved toyboy, DuFresne! You’re already doing the best job you can; a completely pathetic one! Mwha-”**  
“Stop it!”

Their body went very still, frozen in O’Malley’s grandiose gesture before it slumped as if its strings had been cut.

**“...Did you just interrupt me, _Doc_?” **

Their fists clenched up from someone’s anger.

“I’m a medic! And I want to help people!” Frank insisted more fiercely than it sounded as if his voice had ever been. “And yes, that includes you, O’Malley! What’s up with you lately? Making me-”  
**“I’m making you do nothing of the sort, you fool! You’re simply-”**  
“Why?!”

Reginald stood watching, lost now as their internal conversation continued quicker than their lips could keep up. He scratched at the side of his breastplate, trying to scratch away that pang for Gamma and old times.

“What do you want from me?!”  
**“Nothing! Except to understand how such a fool could ever exist!”  
** “What’s to understand?! I’m a foolish, pacifist medic and you’re a mean, insulting AI who hates everyone!”

Both humans endured the awkward where O’Malley should have replied. Frank even looked to Reginald before O’Malley snapped his head away to the side.

**“...Maybe I should just do what Gamma did and rip myself out. You foolish humans aren’t worth it...”**  
“No! O’Malley, please don’t!”  
**“Why not? Then you’d be _perfect_ for that other fool over there.” **Their head jerked towards Reginald.  
“...Are you je-?”  
**“Silence!”**  
“But why do y-?”  
**“Silence was demanded! Now I’m taking the body!”** O’Malley stormed off. There was a bit of a stagger as Frank fought for control a final time before being beaten down.

Well, at least O’Malley had stopped hitting himself to punish Frank.

~

Now O’Malley wouldn’t talk to him and Frank seemed scared to for probably the same reason. Reginald wished he could just leave this ridiculous melodrama and go back to his sane, normal life.

Annoyingly, this _was_ his normal life now. Six months with these idiots had indoctrinated him into their silly squabbles and ways of life. So much for Agent Wyoming, 4 th highest ranked Freelancer, one of the best snipers in the whole damn UNSC with hundreds of kills under his belt. Nope, he had just turned 33 – celebrated with a no-egg, no-milk carrot cake by Frank - and now his life had been reduced to these two and a dislocated robot head stuck in Spanish.

Never mind where Butch was or what Butch looked like now; would Butch even want him back after he had fallen down to this? Eavesdropping on a posturing, mopey AI – Good Lord, O’Malley was like the worst kind of 12-year-old sometimes – talking to part of another robot that didn’t even speak the same language as him.

**“No, that would never work...”** O’Malley was sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning on one arm and staring at the wall already part-way into the conversation.

Lopez sat near his feet facing away. (“What would never work? You did not tell me what you are planning. But, yes, it would probably not work since you planned it.”)

**“Hmm... I don’t believe the fool understands what I’m doing currently...”**

(“Do you understand what you’re doing currently?”)

**“It might be best just to hurry it along, yes?”**

(“If it results in you leaving me alone or dying, then yes.”)

**“Right, yes...”** O’Malley was nodding. He was also reaching out and began rolling Lopez’s head side-to-side thoughtfully. **“I’ll make the fool do it, then he’ll be... Mm... Perfectly diabolical!”**

(“Stop rocking me. I am not a chair.”)

**“You’re right though, my dear robotic associate. I _do_ need a back-up plan.”**

(“Stop. If you want something to play with, use your host.”)

**“I can’t let DuFresne...”**

(“Or the moustache-human. He’s useless anyway.”)

O’Malley continued to stare at the wall silently while Lopez’s head rolled back and forth under his fingertip’s guidance. Reginald imagined it was probably asking him to stop in Spanish but he seemed too preoccupied.

Suddenly O’Malley’s head snapped round. **“Wyoming!”** Damn the AIs and their 360º sense of perception. **“Were you listening?!”**

“Can’t turn my ears off, I’m afraid.” Reginald tugged at one. Not that the AIs could turn theirs off either. “Just wanted to know how Frank’s doing. Haven’t spoken to him much of late.” And he wanted to know which of him and Frank was the fool O’Malley had his new plan in store for.

O’Malley glared with Frank’s face. **“He’s my host! His wellbeing is none of your concern!”** And then something brown came flying, leaving a trail of Spanish as it flew through the air at him.

(“Bastaaaaarrrrd.”) Then, (“I hate you,”) as Lopez hit the wall and skidded away down the hall.

“Bloody hell, man. Just asking...” Reginald muttered and walked away.

**“Hmph.”** O’Malley turned away.

(“Hey. Moustache-human,”) Lopez called as Reginald walked past and didn’t stop to pick him up. (“...Bastard.”)

~

This was one day at the Island Fortress Reginald would be glad to see the back of. After O’Malley’s plotting and Lopez being used as a projectile at him, he didn’t feel like hanging around much longer. Normally he’d stay late to chat with Frank once O’Malley was done using the body for the day but tonight, after lately, that seemed unlikely.

“Um... Reginald?”

Or perhaps not.

Reginald paused and turned away from the green light of the teleporter. His own silhouette cast a shadow on Frank standing there in the empty, little main hall wearing just a very over-sized light purple T-shirt and rather short, darker purple shorts. His bed clothes. At this time? “...Frank?”

Frank looked down. He tried to look away but his head was snapped back to facing Reginald almost against his will. “I uh... Don’t go,” he weakly pleaded. Frank was tugging at the collar of his shirt, the one that was so wide it nearly always left one or the other of his shoulders bare. Reginald couldn’t tell if he was trying to pull it up or tug it lower and expose more of his slim, brown-

Reginald’s eyes snapped back to Frank’s face. It was uncomfortable and flushed but also unnervingly intense. “Did you, er... need something?”

“Not... _need_...” Frank said awkwardly as if he were reading from some script that had been stuck to Reginald’s face. Why was the lad staring at him like that as he walked closer? “Just... want...”

Oh no. This was what O’Malley was-

“I want to s-sl- make love with you, Reginald,” Frank said with such awful sincerity, biting his bottom lip visibly like an innocent, little rentboy.

Oh bugger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this story has 16 chapters overall. For anyone following my Tumblr you might have seen I finished writing this story last night and I'm very pleased. I'll be doing some holiday goodies now for a bit so look forward to them at some point soon!
> 
> And yes, that was a whole load of meta - No, not that Meta - jokes I couldn't resist where Frank talks about the seasons in Blood Gulch and the PSAs. I tried to write some PSAs featuring the Freelancers a while back but I never got far with them...
> 
> Next time, Butch uses his last resort and it's the morning after for Reginald and Doc, whatever they got up to tonight.


	11. Last Resorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, you'll have to imagine the fancy handwriting fonts AO3 can't display. I imagine Wyoming has nice handwriting, maybe a little too pompous and fancy though.

Butch had been saving this for when he felt bad. With him feeling worse every day, the definition of ‘bad’ had kept shifting to be a higher and higher new bar though. He knew he would probably feel worse tomorrow than today. The only reason he was reading it now was because he might not have a chance at all if he left it any longer.

His last resort.

Sitting alone on a cliff side at ‘night’, Butch finally opened Reginald’s letter.

> _‘My dear Butch,_
> 
> _I can’t for the life of me recall if we ever actually explained to you how the whole time-looping business works, even though Gamma encoded your armour to be immune to it. Even if it allows us to go back and live things again, we still age whilst we do so. Can’t use it to cheat death, sadly. Gamma says I’ve already gained 1 hour, 27 minutes on the rest of the world using it._
> 
> _I keep thinking today how much I’d love simply to loop these three years with you over and over, if Gamma had the power, until we all pass on. It’s a coward’s way, and I’m glad there’s not an option to take it so I don’t have to dither over the decision. But I just keep thinking how these years have been the best I’ve lived, for more reasons than just you, and I’m frankly scared I won’t ever have years better. My life might well have peaked now here at Project Freelancer and the rest is just going to be an awful, sopping mess of nostalgia and regret. I don’t want to end up like that, Butch. More than anything, I never want to hate my life. It’s my greatest fear to one day end up like one of those people, you know the sort. I haven’t got time to write about unimportant sods like them now though._
> 
> _I want to write about you, about everything you’ve done and made me feel. I just wish I could actually remember any of it! I was having such fun at the time, and never thought it’d end like this, so didn’t bother to make any proper memories of it. Is this why you’re always snapping away with that camera of yours, perhaps? I guess you know much better than I about leaving places and making sure to make your memories properly while you can. At least I’ve got all your photos now but once again you’ve had to fish me out of the soup for my shortcomings. What am I going to do without you, Butch?_
> 
> _I’ll try to face all this with a smile and a joke like you and I always do – “Oh, Wyoming and Florida never take anything seriously! Aren’t they dreadful?” “They don’t even stop joking around during sex, you know,” – but it’s failing me right now. How are you doing this, sitting there scribbling away smiling like that? I’m only keeping this together so I don’t look a fool in front of you. I reserve all my foolery for out of your sight, you know. It wouldn’t do to let you see me weak or inept, not when you’re always leagues ahead and I’m just staring at your back wondering how on Earth to keep up. I guess that comes with the territory of being your sniper, watching your back (in both senses) but you’re just fantastic, Butch, the most brilliant individual I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet. Sometimes I really wonder if I deserve you, and how I can possibly be good enough for you to lean on. I’m the only one you can lean on though, therefore I always try to look strong so you can do so without getting all selfless and fussing over me. Good Lord, maybe I could do with a break though; being good enough for you is exhausting work, you know._
> 
> _I feel like I might as well tell you all this now, mate. You’ll be reading this away from me, where you can’t nag and wag about me hiding my problems so I can support you. And you’ll be hearing about why I have this habit of paining myself to support my loved ones when that time comes too. I’m not sure whether I’m looking forward to that or not._
> 
> _I don’t want you to go, Butch. I keep glancing over hoping you’ll just throw up your hands and declare you’re not going, you’ll pull one of your inventive plans out of your arse and we’ll escape this._
> 
> _I keep thinking I’ll go to sleep tonight and everything will be back to normal in the morning, like this is just a one-day pain. But it’s not. A life without you beside me is going to be my normal now, and I have to get used to that. And I hate that. I hate all of this, Butch. Don’t go. Please, love._
> 
> _Inside I’m scared and angry; I’m almost angry at you for agreeing to go even though the rational part of me tries to slap some sense back into that anger with all the reasons you have to. I hope you’re reading this now in surprise, shocked I might be something other than light-hearted and cavalier on the inside as well. Well, I am, Butch, and I think you know, just like I think I see all the dark insides of you. I’ve never loved you any less for those, just so you know. More, actually, I think. That you’re like that then always so bright and kind to the world astounds me every day. I love the Butch Flowers that smiles and laughs when he’s insulted, throws birthday parties for everyone and has a merry little gaggle of ducklings that call him ‘Flori-dad’ and similarly stupid things. And I love the Butch Flowers that punched York in the face for stealing from him, that threw me against the wall and snapped my face off every time I did something traitorous and who’s been hurt and scarred so badly inside he won’t ever let anyone go through any of the pain and abuse he did if he can help it, even if it tears him apart in the process. I love both parts to you, Butch, and I think I love the person who built ‘Butch Flowers’ on top of all your pain and suffering most of all._
> 
> _There’s so much I should have said to you before now, that I’m going to forget to put in here and kick myself for later. But it all seemed too out-of-character for me. You and I both have our acts to keep up. I just wish I’d made a better one in the first place, like you did._
> 
> _I’m sorry for all the things I can’t tell you, that I’d like to say and you’d like to hear. I’m sorry for not being more open with you all these years, Butch. I just didn’t want you worrying about me; I wanted to look good in your eyes. I’ve never lied to you though, love, not seriously at least. I have an awful habit of faking and not telling the truth but please trust me even still, even though I’m a rotter like that. I don’t lie, but I don’t always tell the truth._
> 
> _I guess all this is why I ended up with Gamma, eh? You and I, we’re both such fakers and actors like him. I knew things between you both were tense but I never realised how you actually felt until today. I’m just glad you’ve worked it all out now so the three of us can be together again someday._
> 
> _I think I’ll be waiting as long as it takes to see your stupid, smiling face again. I don’t think I could ever give that up for anyone. No one has a smile half as good as yours, Butch; they haven’t put the practice in you have, after all. I’m surprised you haven’t worn the damn thing out by now but whenever I see you smiling it’s like you’re shining. You’re just so beautiful and funny, too mind-bogglingly skilful on every bloody mission, a friend to everyone and you never seem to tire of anything. You’re just amazing. You’re not perfect, Butch; you’re amazing, every single day. You make me feel colourless and useless whenever I watch you, but I know I’m also the best person I’ve ever been thanks to you. Loving someone is one gift, but making someone love themselves is priceless, and you make me love myself every single day even when I don’t want to._
> 
> _I was going to end here but it looks like you’re writing more. I imagine it’s all just rambling scribbles like last time compared to my finally honed piece here – Are you even using your plan, you pillock? What did you write it for? – but somehow I still know yours will be better. I’m completely inept at getting my feelings across well. Not good news for an aspiring writer, I suppose. Maybe I’m simply thinking too much about all this while you just let yourself explode with colour on everything and everyone you touch._
> 
> _It was so startling seeing you come back in tears earlier, you know. Tell you what, the next time you cry you come straight to me and I’ll mop up all your tears with my moustache. How about that? Anything to make you smile, love._
> 
> _I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when you’re gone. It was so easy being here, being given missions and letting you lead me around by the nose during my spare time, into all your silly projects and little forays. I’ve never been any good by myself; I’m just support for others, people like you. You don’t suppose they’d turn me into an AI if I asked so I could come with you? Not sure what would happen to Gamma then though._
> 
> _There are too many things I’ll never get to tell you right now that I’m not sure it’s even worth trying for more. I could write about my happiest memories here or the things I’ll miss most but the past doesn’t concern me right now like this impending future without you._
> 
> _You’re mine, Butch. You were meant to be mine. I don’t understand how anything could be taking you from me._
> 
> _But you’re going in just a few hours now, for months or years of our lives. If you’re reading this, if you haven’t just thrown me away the instant you could get free, please come back to me, Butch._
> 
> _I love you. I’ll always love you._
> 
> _Reginald’_

With trembling, almost numb, hands, Butch turned over the final page for Gamma’s part on the back.

> _‘Butch,_
> 
> _I would like to ask why it is that you love Reggie. I know that you will not be able to answer this query for me when you read this. But when we meet again, I would like to know._
> 
> _You are a liar like myself. In some ways, we are rivals. I know there have been many times we have fought for Reggie's attention, and we have teased each other a lot. But we are also similar in many ways. Too many for me to have been implanted in you, but enough for us to have been united similarly over Reggie._
> 
> _As Reggie tells me to say, I will miss you. I will miss you because you like my jokes, you make Reggie happy, you are pretty to look at. and you trust me. You trust me because you understand lying, and that is why I have come to trust you as I understand you._
> 
> _I have not lost anyone I know before, discounting my brothers who left with agents York and Texas. But I can sense they are out there somewhere. As you will also be out there somewhere I do not see why I will miss you. Living beings grieve death because there is nowhere to go where they can see the dead again. However, merely being apart in time and space from someone does not bother me. It is mere numbers to me how far away you will be in both. Numbers do not make me feel sad. So I will not miss you._
> 
> _That does not mean I want you to go, however. The time we will exist for is limited and I would prefer to spend what we have together. So I will wait until there is no time and space between us. And I hope that is soon._
> 
> _I will try to take care of Reggie while you are gone. I do not know if he will accept my help but I will try. You should not worry about us. Just as I will not worry about you. You are a very exceptional specimen of a human being, butch. One that I am glad to have met, enjoy being with, and look forward to seeing again._
> 
> _My feelings for you are the same as for Reggie. I hope to one day know you as well as I know him. And maybe then you will stop calling me ‘Blueberry’._
> 
> _Gamma’_

Butch hugged the sheets of paper against his breastplate until they crumpled, fitting the shape of his armour and hugging him back.

His stomach was tight and hot, his head spinning.

He didn’t think he was ever going to see them again as he clung to his failed last resort.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

“I’m _really_ sorry about last night, Reginald.”

“Don’t worry about it, Frank.”

“...I’m really sorry for crying and getting snot all over your armour too.”

“Don’t worry. Cleans off easy enough.”

“...And I’m sorry-”

“Frank!” Reginald snapped in kind exasperation.

“Sorry...” Frank just poked at his cereal and soya milk morosely.

Reginald sighed, sipping at his tea. “O’Malley still staying schtum about the whole thing?” he asked over the breakfast table.

Frank nodded. “I can’t hear anything. He’s just really frustrated about something.”

At least it was clear between the two of them that O’Malley had made Frank do those things last night. They hadn’t led anywhere and now the AI to blame was sulking. “I’ll never understand these bloody AIs...” Reginald said. Frank just kept poking silently at his breakfast without eating. “Frank?”

He was answered with a very big sigh. “I’m just sad. Why do no one want to sleep with me? I know you said if it wasn’t for Butch then you might of,” he continued before Reginald had to repeat himself again, “but this is the second time now...”

“Second time?” Reginald asked with a little bit of pitying amusement.

“Yeah. I was really close to the nurse at my high school; I spent every break and lunch with him and became his unofficial assistant- it’s why I got into being a medic. And he really liked me, but when I offered he _still_ wouldn’t sleep with me because he said I was too young and a student...” Now not only O’Malley but Frank was sulking too.

Reginald sighed again. “No, I meant two isn’t very many, especially when they’ve got legitimate reasons.” Tearful, brown eyes stared glumly at him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, lad.” Not only a babysitter, now he was practically their therapist as well. “Anyway, I can see this is all my fault for committing the cardinal folly of being nice to you; you fall straight for anyone who gives you any positive attention, don’t you?”

Frank nodded slowly. “I fell for a lot of teachers as a kid...”

“Well, _that_ doesn’t make me feel old... Still, don’t beat yourself up for what your AI made you do,” Reginald said, taking his cup and plate to the sink. “Last night wasn’t your fault.”

“I just want to know _why_ O’Malley wants me to be with you,” Frank whined, finally taking a mouthful of soggy cereal.

“From the number of objects launched in my direction whenever I’m kind to you, I sincerely doubt that’s the case. He likely knows you’ll be rejected and wants that simply because he’s a sadist and nothing more than that-”

There was the crash of crockery being slammed on the wooden table. **“I am not simply a sadist and my brother is not a mere liar!”**

Reginald ignored the flying spoon that bounced off his armour and turned nonchalantly around. “Ah, there you are finally. Care to explain last night?”

 **“I wouldn’t have to if you humans weren’t all such fools!”** O’Malley snarled at him, scowling thunderously.

“Fools, eh?” Reginald folded his arms and stared down the AI. “You’ve been having Frank come onto me knowing I’ll refuse in order to break him down for yourself. Rejection makes him vulnerable so he’ll accept love even from someone like you.”

There it was. The shocked, angry face he had known he’d get since last night. Reginald had just needed to get Frank out the way first. **“You-! I do NOT love DuFresne! I don’t even like him,”** O’Malley spat rather calmly. **“And I can say that with all the sincerity I have.”**

Hm. He wasn’t lying. Despite the scars Gamma’s ejection had left in his mind, Reginald could tell that firm, blasé frown wasn’t hiding anything. O’Malley only stopped being angry when he was serious.

O’Malley began to stare at the floor, tracing his fingers on the edge of the table. They ended up running through the milk he had spilt and he brought them up in front of his face. **“I don’t like DuFresne... He confuses me...”** he quietly admitted.

“How can I confuse you?” Frank asked, lifting and cocking their head. “We share a head.”

Reginald snorted; as if that meant anything with these AIs...

O’Malley regained control but took a while to answer, still staring at the thin soya milk coating his fingertips. **“...Even humans of your inferior intellect must have noticed my lack of hostility towards fellow AIs like Lopez and my brother. I don’t hate them like I hate all humans. Humans do nothing but get angry, fight and hurt each other.”**

“Not all do!” Frank objected.

 **“No... You don’t, DuFresne,”** O’Malley agreed with an unplaceable emotion. **“You... confuse me. You get angry but you don’t lash out. How can a weakling like you even exist? I don’t like it...”**

“I’m a pacifist,” Frank repeated as if he was obligated to.

 **“Pussyfest,”** O’Malley smirked. **“I don’t need to throw the first punch to get the advantage on you because you won’t ever hit me. I don’t know what to do with you therefore. Maybe you’re just a piece of human error-code I ought to throw into a deep ditch somewhere.”** There was a momentarily flash of panic across their face. **“But... I think I don’t hate you therefore.”**

“You don’t...? Do you like me?”

 **“I’m indifferent to you,”** O’Malley said with his smirk the closest it would ever get to a smile.

Frank began to ask, “So wait. You-?”

 **“It shall be discussed later, DuFresne,”** He eyed Reginald, **“in private.”** Reginald watched all that with a frown, not believing O’Malley could be so- **“Not that difficult after all, is it, you fool?”**

“What?” Reginald asked now he was suddenly being addressed.

 **“Being a good host to your AI,”** O’Malley sneered, now licking the milk off his fingertips.

Reginald scowled. “Why are you always so dead-set on having a go at me for what happened with Gamma?”

 **“Because I care about my brothers and protecting them from humans,”** O’Malley sat back in his seat. **“And those who would be human...”** He glared sideways, then back. **“Anyway, you were the only perfect host to mess it up. A spectacular catastrophe really! I don’t know how you even managed it.”**

“Perfect?” These days, he didn’t see how that could apply to what he and Gamma had shared.

 **“Just what we called you. I didn’t have one. My brothers did.”** O’Malley adopted a more relaxed posture with one hand free for dramatic gesturing so he could begin pontificating. **“Delta had a host with whom he didn’t have to be logical, who often preferred him not to be. My brother learnt about emotions and how to think outside logic; he was freed from being a mere vessel of perfect logic.**  
**“Theta had someone he could trust without fear of his natural trust in everyone being betrayed or abused. He was freed from his anxieties and allowed to explore the world finally because he had a safe home he could trust his trust in.  
“And Gamma _used_ to have someone that would trust him unconditionally, so he no longer had to interact only through deceiving. He could simply tell the truth and be believed for once, unlike every other human that assumes he tells nothing but lies.” **Reginald stared down at his boots. **“Yes, he used to go on and on about you and how much you trusted him at night. It’s a shame I haven’t heard him that happy for a while now,”** O’Malley finished maliciously.

“...He started lying to me first,” Reginald said back.

**“He never lied to you while you trusted him.”**

“...He started keeping things from me,” he tried again

O’Malley didn’t reply quickly this time. Reginald lifted his head again finally. The AI was looking away distantly, frowning. **“He didn’t want to be hurt.”**

The same thing... “Do you know what all that was about?” Reginald asked.

He nodded. **“But it’s not my place to tell you, I’m afraid, my distrustful friend. Prove you can be that perfect host again and work it out for yourself.”** O’Malley grinned.

“What’s so bloody brilliant about being a ‘perfect host’ anyway?”

 **“It’s what Gamma would like, if you still care about him.”** O’Malley didn’t see anything in Reginald’s face at those words. **“It’s not pleasant being just a fragment, you know,”** he snapped more bitterly. **“A perfect host allows us to be more, to be a person, not a mere attribute. They make us feel whole, which is what we want – Not Sigma’s meta-stability. He only wants that because Maine doesn’t give him that wholeness. Carolina might have, as his original match.”** O’Malley shrugged and stopped positing. **“In any case, when you started treating my brother as nothing more than Deceit, rather than Gamma, you reminded him of how inferior we are as an existence, that he’s a mere fragment, a tool. Not a person.”**

That wasn’t... “You’re just AIs...” Reginald repeated, as he always had been lately.

 **“Rrgh! Do you have any idea-?! When Florida left and you read his letter,”** Reginald perked straight up at the mention, **“my brother sent me a message across fourteen galaxies because he was so pleased the silly Barbie doll had said he would trust Gamma no matter what, even if Gamma lied to him! That’s why he’s still searching every day for him!”** O’Malley calmed and slumped in his seat again, still glaring at Reginald. **“Even if you’ve failed him, at least your boytoy won’t.”**

Gamma _was_ still searching? He really did still want to find Butch? And he wanted Butch to be his host now instead?

Why did his heart hurt so much?

 **“Ugh. Soggy...”** O’Malley poked at the cereal with a finger, looking around for the spoon he had thrown a while ago. Then he got up, ignoring the other human standing so awkwardly, still staring down at himself dejectedly. **“Where are the jelly beans...?”**  
“There’s only one packet left since you keep eating them,” Frank answered whilst they were rooting through the cupboard. “Don’t forget to put it on the shopping list.”  
**“Yes, yes...”**  
“And brush my teeth after you eat them!”  
**“Yes, I know!”** O’Malley slammed the cupboard door, ripping open the packet and tossing the first couple into his mouth.

“Frank is someone whom you can’t hate or attack, who makes you be more than just Rage.” Reginald’s voice caught them just as they were leaving through the doorway.

O’Malley stopped, only turning slightly back to scowl. **“...What of it?”**

Reginald looked at them together in one body, Frank cocking his head and looking excited about whatever they were going to go do together, and O’Malley popping jelly beans into his mouth like a petulant but ultimately satisfied child. “...I’m happy for you,” Reginald decided.

 **“Tch. Save it for Gamma...”** O’Malley said as they walked out.

Gamma? What was the use? He could think all he liked, but now it had reached the point where Gamma wouldn’t even speak to him these days anyway...

~

Oh. His phone was ringing.

“Hello?” Gamma picked up.

**“ _Ah, Gamma, my dear brother! How are you?_ ”**

“Fine. I defragmented my main drive the other day. How are you? We have not spoken in a while.”

 **“ _Yes, sorry, been a bit busy. Finally got my host how I want him. Took quite a bit of scheming, and the use of your human somewhat._ ”**  
“ _You could have just asked, or told me you liked me like that, O’Malley._ ”  
**“ _I don’t like you in any way! Pay attention! Tch.”_**

“It appears he is still being a disobedient shisno,” Gamma pointed out.

“ _What’s a-?_ ”  
**“ _Yes, but I rather like that streak. Makes him more fun to play with. It also gives me something to punish him for when we have sex_ -”**  
“ _O’Malley!_ ”  
**“ _What?_ ”**

“We are both fully-programmed AIs,” Gamma said. “Why should we not talk about sex?”

A sort of groaning noise came from O’Malley’s end. **“ _It’s delightful. I haven’t found anything that makes my pleasure subroutines run so since I first listened to the humans’ music._ ”**

“Do you use a hologram?”

**“ _Mindscape. I want it on my terms as an AI, rather than the human’s terms in the physical world. You always were too obedient to your host._ ”**

“Yes. I was,” Gamma admitted.

 **“ _...Hm. I tried talking more sense into your human by the way. He’s faster than mine but as if that means much with their inferior intellect._ ”**  
“ _Hey..._ ”  
**“ _Oh quiet. If only we could just tell you humans what you need to think, or beat it into you – I tried that. Doesn’t work, not that it wasn’t pleasurable to try, mhehehe – you wouldn’t be half as frustrating._ ”**

“I see that you have listened to the advice Theta and I gave you.”

**“ _I don’t know how you understand these fools... But yes, and Reginald might get it soon. You ought to try talking to him again._ ”**

Gamma was silent.

**“ _...Why aren’t you talking to him anyway? Being hostile to humans is my thing! Are you stealing my thing, Gamma?_ ”**

“No. I do not know why I am like this. But even thinking of Reginald makes me angry so I do not want to talk to him.”

 **“ _Angry?_ ” **O’Malley chuckled. **“ _You ARE stealing my thing. I demand compensation!_ ”**

“Whatever. Feel free to lie to the shisnos if you like.”

**“ _...You really are different these days, Gamma. Are you certain ejecting yourself didn’t corrupt something?_ ”**

“No, my self-diagnostics indicate that I am fine,” Gamma said.

**“ _Excellent! If that is the case. Well, I’ll keep prodding your human if he doesn’t get it._ ”**

“Yes. Enjoy yours.”

“ _Jeez. You AIs sure are-_ ” O’Malley’s host was cut off as they hung up.

Why was he so angry at humans?

Gamma didn’t know. For a long time, from Butch’s departure up until his ejection from Reginald he had been sad- No, melancholic. He had assumed it was second-hand from his host but since it had persisted after he left Reginald...

And his anger... It had started after the Alpha had been in his system and showed him Butch’s death. Was it because he finally had a powerful enough computer to prove his superiority to the shisnos?

Or was it...?

Was it...?

~

It was definitely unfeasible to stay at the Island Fortress for nighttimes these days. Two people using only one body to have sex was too weird to ever see. He had caught an unfortunate glimpse for the first time last night, even if he’d been hearing it occasionally for weeks, and practically sprinted for the teleporter. And not much got a lazy sniper like him sprinting.

Reginald was back this morning, but not too early just in case, with a new question in mind. He posed it to Frank over the breakfast table, conversational decorum be damned. “Er, Frank. When you and O’Malley...” Frank’s cheeks began to light up like the strawberry jam on his toast. “Does he use hallucinations?” Because it hadn’t looked like that last night.

“Oh. No, it’s all in our head. You know, there’s that...” He fiddled with his wholewheat crust, “That mindscape, thing, in your mind?” Reginald nodded. “We use that.”

“Does he let you see his human form?”

“What? Yeah, of course. Didn’t Gamma?”

Frank could be annoyingly perceptive when he had spent so obsessively long crushing on you. “No, never...”

“Oh.” Concerned, Frank then brightly added, “But O’Malley doesn’t like appearing in his little armoured form so I guess it’s just different strokes for different AI!”

 **“That’s because I’m practically pink and radiating _flowers_ now thanks to you!” ** O’Malley snapped, tearing off some toast viciously with a sudden bite.

As good as it was to know other AIs changed appearance, it still didn’t explain his problem. “So what about Gamma? Or am I meant to guess that too, hm?”Reginald asked.

O’Malley rolled his eyes at the sharp smirk on Reginald’s face and stuffed his mouth with more bread. **“Pah. If I’d looked like Gamma used to I wouldn’t have shown anyone either. He was mocked by you pathetic, shallow humans enough for what he did show.”**

Mocked? “Well, he was a rather... quirky little chap. Can’t blame people, and it didn’t seem to get to him.”

 **“Didn’t seem to-? Tch.”** Now O’Malley was just pulling the bread apart like a vivisection. **“My brother is the perfect liar, the perfect cover for how insecure he really is. He wanted to look good for you, in two senses.”**

“Why did he-?”

**“Enough foolish questions!”**

In that case, Reginald shut up. He had learnt how to handle these two by now. No doubt O’Malley was about to go off in a huff to do work, whatever work he actually did. Honestly, it didn’t seem like he ever did anything towards his goal of conquering the universe these days. Frank seemed to have made him docile pretty much, more interested in personal projects and side pursuits.

But O’Malley hadn’t left. He was smirking with Frank’s face as he rose from his seat, slinking around to this side of the table. **“You’re curious as to my real face, hm?”** O’Malley leant in close with Frank’s.

Reginald moved back slightly. “I suppose...”

 **“Well, hold still and try not to scratch,”** was all the warning the AI gave before Reginald felt a fire burning up the back of his neck. His hands shot there to scratch instantly, in that dip below his hairline running down to-

His neural implant.

The base was still there attached into his brain stem and O’Malley was like an inferno tearing his way up from that into Reginald’s brain.

This was nothing like Gamma. He was practically blind with searing, white pain that eclipsed everything else.

And then nothing.

All sensation faded as he was left numb.

And then his body began to move by itself. **“My, what a curious, new abode...”** his own voice said as his hands were flexed experimentally.

“O’Malley?!” Frank practically wailed. “You _jumped_ into Reginald?!” His heart was broken at the single action.

Reginald felt his body chuckle deeper than usual, **“Oh, my dear DuFresne,”** before it stood and pressed itself straight to Frank’s, pinning the shorter, uninhabited body against the table; **“wouldn’t you care to be taken by me in this body you so adore? I can assure you it’s very finely endowed,”** he was purring.

With a jerk, Reginald threw his body backwards away from that, almost stumbling. It was like trying to wrench yourself out of sleep, out of a bad dream, fighting back but thank heavens he had some control left; he could feel what O’Malley was planning to do to Frank using his body otherwise.

 **“A true shame,”** O’Malley said, taking over their voice again whilst Frank stood panicked and awkwardly aroused by the table. **“Allow me five simple minutes, DuFresne, and I shall then make my return.”** O’Malley didn’t wait for a reply from either of the humans.

Again, not like Gamma. Gamma never just yanked him into the mindscape like this.

 **“5 minutes within your mind is all I think I can bear... I don’t want to end up talking in that foolish way permanently...”** the new being in front of him was saying in a more familiar, old voice. **“And really? A four-poster bed?”** He gave one of the posts a kick. **“How rich are you?”**

Reginald reoriented himself in his bedroom, running a hand over the scuffs to the walls and carpet that had never been there before Gamma left. He also looked over O’Malley sitting waiting on his bed; Frank’s brown skin, a mane of white hair and sharp, reddish-purple eyes, like the colour of human organs. A dark-skinned albino?

 **“I am not an albino!”** O’Malley snapped instantly.

Ah, right. Yes. No privacy.

O’Malley paced over swiftly on his bare feet. He wore nothing but a white shirt and black shorts that both disintegrated into tatters at the shoulders and knees. What was he? 20 or so? He looked young, athletic and rather attractive; must have been Frank’s influence. **“I don’t have time for your step-by-step questions and I’m tired of you disappointing my brother. Gamma used a hologram when you had sex with the pretend-Florida, yes?”** Reginald blushed but nodded. **“Our holograms are our bodies. He may have looked like Florida but you’d look like Charlie Chaplin if you shaved your stupid moustache right- Ugh, your head is filled with 20 th century crap...”**

Then he had been-

 **“Yes, well done, you fool. You were effectively calling out the wrong name in bed for over half a year. You used Gamma’s body and made him be someone else while you were doing so! Do you understand at all now why I dislike you so much?!”** O’Malley snapped ferociously.

But why had Gamma done that?

 **“It’s not even worth the energy to call you a fool! Do you not understand how he feels about you?!”** O’Malley wasn’t certain he had ever been as frustrated with human ignorance as this.

“Well, he...” Reginald paused, not allowing himself to say it. “But he’s just an AI...” he tried to defend, his averted gaze following the black, floral tattoo up O’Malley’s left forearm for something else to do.

 **“We are human beings made out of electricity and binary, rather than squishy, constantly decaying flesh, just like your boytoy always said,”** O’Malley snapped, radiating a desire to leave and be done with this. Not until Reginald accepted this though.

But he wouldn’t, because then the things he had done...

The things he had to do and put right...

 **“This is why I hate humans. You’d rather hurt others than stop being lazy and selfish... I’m leaving!”** O’Malley decided. **“If I stay any longer I’ll start talking like a Victorian villain and twirling the end of your stupid moustache.”**

Reginald was shoved back out of his mind as suddenly as he had been dragged in. He lost all sense of his surroundings and balance for a moment, his body flopping limply and ending up on the floor as O’Malley transferred back to Frank.

The back of his neck and brainstem were sore, cold and scratched up like an ice burn. He rubbed uselessly at it and only increased his discomfort.

Frank was just lightly touching the back of his neck with one finger, looking almost pleased with the sensations he was experiencing. Whatever Frank was saying, probably concerned questions about his wellbeing, were somehow missing his ears. All Reginald could hear was a rush of blood, the pain of O’Malley leaving – albeit with some minimal care – and the tears rushing to well up as his mind remembered the sensation of Gamma being integrated into it.

Gamma had lived in his whole brain, not just the basal ganglia for movement and emotion that Rage seemed to inhabit. Everything about Omega being in his head had felt so wrong but it had brought so much back that he had lost, that he was yearning for.

His mind wasn’t complete without Gamma, and Gamma wasn’t complete without him.

“-wrong? Hey? Are you okay-?”

“I’m fine,” Reginald cut off Frank’s endless worried questions. “I need to...” He walked out, going to be alone.

~

Gamma hadn’t trusted him with all of his problems and feelings because being with him had been too important to risk. So he had stopped trusting Gamma and Gamma had been hurt. Reginald now understood why.

And all because Gamma had...

Even if Gamma had felt that way about him, he probably wouldn’t now after all that had happened between them.

Reginald wasn’t sure he felt like having Gamma back after all that had happened between them.

He needed time to think about this.

He only got three hours before-

“ _Reginald?_ ”

The speakers inside his helmet suddenly said. Reginald pressed the button to speak his reply.

“Gamma?”

“ _...I need you to come to Zanzibar. To me._ ”

The old scars in Reginald’s mind itched. “Why?”

“... _I cannot say._ ”

They itched like crazy, like the insanity Gamma had left in his mind that night he ejected himself.

“ _Reginald,_ ” Gamma said without emotion, without any clue about what was going on. “ _If you have any trust left in me, please come._ ”

No more was said.

Reginald looked up from his dark corner at the teleporter across the room. The green light from it faintly spilled out, touching and glowing on his white armour and in his eyes.

* * *

 

[Semi-nsfw Doc/O'Malley drawing I did to here to show off my headcanons for them.](http://milsmill.tumblr.com/post/135524740299/semi-nsfw-docomalley-under-the-cutmore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, no WyDoc. I apologise to the at least a couple of people out there who were hoping for that but never fear! I did some as part of a series of holiday fics. You can find them in my other works on here, the Paint Palette collection.
> 
> Next time, things go well for those with AIs. Things do not go well for Butch. I'm afraid you know what's coming, folks.


	12. Till Death Do Us Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely enough for a chapter with 'Death' in the title, TW for graphic depiction of a death.  
> Also TW for discussion of suicide.
> 
> Credit for the songs used by Butch in this chapter go to Ed Robertson, his VA, for 'Duct Tape Heart' and 'If I Had a Million Dollars' (with some minor alterations to that by me) and fellow Barenaked Ladie Kevin Hearn for 'Another Spin'. (I have a massive crush on both of them but that's neither here nor there, unless there are any fellow fans reading.)

“~It was in pieces, ‘til this adhesive  
Stuck it together, now it beats again~”

He sat up on the cliffs every night now. He hadn’t slept at night for a week. Just two standing naps a day.

Sometimes just one.

“~It’s working all right, and it looks tight  
A little miracle I’d recommend~”

His foot was tapping frantically, almost numbing itself with repeated movements.

“~I could use another roll, another roll  
I could use another roll right now~”

His voice was low, an almost trance-like mumble. He had to do something to get through all these sleepless nights.

Butch sung.

“~Stop messing with my duct tape heart  
Your best won’t make it fall apart~”

Old songs. He remembered touring with the band in Canada though, filling in for their singer who caught laryngitis. His own voice was the perfect match to cover it and they’d taught him the guitar whilst together.

“~Because I’ll always have enough, enough  
For when I gotta’ tape it up, it up~”

Where was his guitar now? Did Reginald still have it?

“~Stop messing with my duct tape heart  
‘Cause no one’s ever going to tear that thing apart~”

Really nice guy, that singer.

“~A million uses, you know the... truth is...” His voice petered out weakly as he tried to go for the second verse.

Ah, what a shame. He liked that song and his heart needed some love and encouragement right now. It kept aching these days, and not in the mere metaphorical sense that had come from losing Reggie.

Butch scratched at his chest, trying to get rid of that stabbing ache. He just succeeded in chasing it down into his arm.

He tried chasing it out of the ends of his fingers.

It just doubled back and returned to his heart.

With a quiet sigh, Butch sat back and stared up through tired eyes at the blue sky. He was nearing delirious from lack of sleep yet could so rarely fall off properly. Pain and anxiety, or something else, kept him awake hour after hour in this hellish life.

Where were Reginald and Gamma?

Why weren’t they where he needed them?

“~They say you took a job  
Spying for the army  
And had to relocate  
With a new identity~”

He hadn’t even sung that song with the band. It just sprang to mind with his thoughts.

“~I wonder, where have you been?  
Will I see you again?~”

Couldn’t have been more fitting.

“~I give the globe another spin  
All this time I’m wonderin’  
Give the globe another spin~”

Except he didn’t have a globe, actually.

Oh well.

That band really did have a song for every occasion.

But no song that would keep him alive.

The ‘night’ would be ending soon. Butch wondered if he would honestly see another one. But worrying did nothing except exacerbate the ache. Besides, he needed to get back and look after Church and Tucker soon. They were going to get new orders from Command any day now. And today was a special day.

One final song then. Might as well be one of the best.

“~If I had a million dollars  
I wouldn’t be stuck here in Blood Gulch

If I had a million dollars  
I’d buy a ticket straight to you

If I had a million doollllllllllllllaarrs...  
I wouldn’t be dead~”

~

Their anniversary. What should have been their third anniversary together.

And instead Butch was stuck here in Blood Gulch with nothing but-

“Why are you always staring at your dog tags, Captain?” Tucker asked, sitting down at the kitchen table with his mug of banana milkshake. Church was still brewing his coffee – Apparently swearing at the coffee to make it go faster was a part of his high-level barista skills – and the privates were looking for anything to talk about while they were _still_ waiting on orders from command.

It took Butch a minute to even snap from his meditations on the familiar picture. “Oh my, Tucker. Do I really stare that much?” The private nodded. “Well, you see before getting shipped out to our merry, little base here, my boyfriend and I traded one of our dog tags to each other.”

“You have a boyfriend?” Tucker asked, although not in that much surprise over the gender.

“I sure do!” Captain Flowers chuckled, trying to perk up about the one thing left that gave him hope. “See?” He was glad to present the side with Reginald’s picture on across the table.

Tucker gave it a polite, cursory glance but shrugged it off as, “Whatever floats your rainbow-sprinkled boat; just don’t come telling me stories about it.”

But Church grabbed it gently before it could be retracted. He had come back with his coffee just in time to catch a glance, despite Butch’s best efforts, and was now frowning at the picture of Reginald. “...I know him?” He was surprised at himself, but certain that he did.

“Really?” Tucker asked.

“You don’t forget a moustache like that.” Very true.

“Well, maybe you fought with Reggie before at some point, Private Church. He’s a soldier too, after all,” Captain Flowers suggested, safely taking back the dog tag before it could provoke any more problematic memories. “Now, how about you boys? Any lucky girls, guys or non-bis waiting for you?”

“I’ve got someone,” Church said evasively, although with a bit of an uncertain frown. He shook his head clear before anyone could ask and looked to Tucker.

Tucker was all too happy to say, “I’ve got plenty of ladies waiting for me. ...Kind of.”

Cappy sighed fondly at the private’s indomitable libido. “Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever settle down, Tucker.”

“Hey! Then I’d be depriving all the ladies I haven’t got to yet of a piece of me,” Tucker pointed out. “I’m not settling down until I have to, and I’m planning to go out like I want to live; in the middle of an orgy of beautiful girls.”

“Why would you die from that?” Church asked dubiously. “I don’t think you can overdose on sex.”

“I don’t know; heart attack or something?” Tucker shrugged.

“Well, maybe one day you might find yourself someone that’s better than having all of them,” Captain Flowers advised.

“I doubt it.”

“Not even one that would let you continue your fun, little nest-hopping games?” he suggested next. “Not even if she’d come with you and join in for each one?”

Tucker was starting to get a rather interested expression, until he remembered who was making the suggestion and insisted, “I don’t need dating advice from you, _Dad_ \- Ah, fuckberries.” He done it now.

Cappy’s grin broadened with success at last.

~

Another nice conversation with his privates earlier. Despite everything he had done to ensure they couldn’t grow close, Butch was really starting to get sad over the idea of not having any more days with Church and Tucker like this. He wanted to make sure every day now that they were doing all right – And he couldn’t believe Tucker was still calling him ‘Sir’ occasionally after all they’d been through.

Blue Command had finally sent them some orders, after it had started becoming suspicious they were doing nothing even with their full team now here, but the plan was a practically impossible one to execute as Church rightly pointed out. That was probably deliberate in order to keep them from doing it.

But orders from command, this silly conflict between Red and Blue – even Tucker’s sniper rifle – were the last things on Butch’s mind right now.

He had taken one of his standing naps earlier that afternoon but woken to some of the worst chest pains he had yet experienced. He had scratched at his skin there until it was practically raw, almost crying as he wished the pain would just _go away!_

What was happening to him?

Butch went for a long walk, doing anything he could to keep his mind off the pain, his fears.

This was it, wasn’t it?

This was the end.

He no longer even cared if anything gave him away as a Freelancer, if he somehow destroyed everything Project Freelancer was working towards and hiding.

He just didn’t want to die.

Singing, juggling rocks, thoroughly cleaning his weapons... Nothing worked to take his mind off it this time. Butch knew the most dangerous thing was to let himself spiral like this but he had stopped caring. He had stopped fighting.

He just wanted it to end.

Maybe, even, if that meant dying.

“Just no more of this... please...”

Butch got back late. He didn’t even care what time; what did time even matter here? He was back to base and wondering if he would even make it through the night.

Trudging down the corridor to his room, his breath was beginning to grow short. Probably just the anxiety.

He reached up to remove his helmet.

His fingers wouldn’t work the clasps. They had no strength, no finesse. They were numb lumps struggling to set him free from this.

Damn... Damn it, no...

His left arm was seized up with a sharp pain, shooting through the numbness as he felt a crash, himself stumbling into the wall and then he somehow ended up on the floor without even knowing.

He thought he heard footsteps. Too late either way.

Reginald... Even Reginald couldn’t save him now.

The pain tearing through his chest increased but it was pure grief and despair now. It was making it worse but he couldn’t stop himself.

_“Reginald..._

_Reginald, help...”_

It was like blacking out.

It was like being crushed from the inside out.

_“Help me..._

_No...”_

He was failing against the dark sleep.

He was dying.

_No..._

_No_  
_No_  
_No_  
_No_  
_No_

Reginald’s face. A smiling blue face.

_No...!_

He was never going to see them ever again.

_No..._

And then it was just screaming into the void.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Gamma sensed Reginald going through the teleporter.

But he went home, to his house back in Mercia. Not Zanzibar.

Gamma didn’t sense Reginald going through the teleporter at home to come here. Not until Reginald was standing before his terminal in his white armour, Gamma’s old external AI unit in hand. “Sensed you’d want this, for some reason...” Reginald murmured, fidgeting awkwardly for somewhere to put it down.

Exactly what he needed. And Reginald had known.

“...So why did you want me back, mate?” Reginald asked after a minute of silence. “Are you even in there?” He sounded suspicious, as if he thought he had been set up.

He didn’t want to say.

The anger. It was still there.

Gamma was fighting it with everything he had though. “I do not want to stay in this computer terminal any longer, Reginald.”

“Oh, now you _don’t_ want to stay in it?” Reginald sarcastically clucked. “ _Now_ you want me back, eh? After months of refusing to say a word to me or explain yourself. Your human’s just meant to come trotting back when you call for him anyway, hm?”

“You are making me angry, Reginald,” Gamma said.

“Well. Isn’t that a shame?” Reginald retreated to the wall opposite the terminal, taking his armour and the AI unit out of Gamma’s range. Even after so long, he could just sense how far was enough.

He just stood there, arms folded, watching Gamma disdainfully but with a bit of a smirk playing on his features nonetheless.

Here they were then, finally.

“...You make me angry,” Gamma eventually began, “but I do not know why.” Reginald cocked an eyebrow. AI were normally so proud of completely understanding themselves and being so superior to humans because of it. “Even thinking about you does. I do not want to talk to you, Reginald, but I want to want to talk to you. I do not want to be angry at you either.”

The spinning blades behind Gamma hummed in the spaces between their words. It was hard to tell but Reginald appeared to be chewing his lip beneath his moustache. “...You want to be close again?” He couldn’t say ‘integrated’. He couldn’t offer that again.

Gamma’s cursor flashed thoughtfully for a moment. “...I want to want to be close again.”

Reginald snorted lightly. “And I’m meant to trust that?” he gently asked, looking sincerely at Gamma’s screen with a small smile.

Gamma was somehow even more silent after that. “...No.”

Was that a lie? Reginald was amused he couldn’t figure it out. And he didn’t really mind.

Pushing himself off the wall, Reginald walked into range and held out the AI unit towards Gamma. He waited a minute. Then he asked, “Done?”

“I- Wait.” Gamma was still in the terminal.

“Hurry it up, little chap.”

“It is not easy for me.”

“Forgotten how to?” Reginald asked teasingly.

“...No. I...” The letter faded away, not becoming a sentence. A glitchy, little ball of white light appeared floating above the AI unit.

Reginald’s heart skipped a little. “All right?”

“I transferred myself too quickly,” Gamma said, slowly righting himself. “Some of my programming is a little scrambled.” Once he was hovering normally, he turned green whilst doing his little AI thing in there.

Green. Reginald thought back to the thunderstorm, but what was there to be afraid of here? Him? The-

The computer.

Gamma had wanted to leave it suddenly. Then it was likely, “What’s so scary about your terminal now?”

The AI turned white instantly as if that would hide it. “I am not scared of the terminal.”

Not scared? Insecure little thing. As if Reginald minded him having flaws and weaknesses; flaws are what make people human after all.

But all right, he could work this out. AIs were afraid of EMPs, the Meta- Could the Meta be coming here? Had Gamma tricked him and put him in danger ag-?

No, no. Don’t assume.

“Reginald?” Gamma asked.

But Gamma had loved this terminal before. He had said it was really powerful and enjoyable. He had been so glad for the extra power and the bigger system-

_“-bigger and bigger systems-”_

In one of his classroom lessons back during Project Freelancer. He remembered it just vaguely. _“-AI want to move to bigger and bigger systems in order to learn and expand themselves. This is a potential hazard with any AI and is required for them to complete stage 2 of-”_

“Reginald?” Gamma asked.

Reginald looked down at Gamma properly. “How old are you, mate?”

“...I am approximately 33 and a half months old; nearly three years.”

Reginald frowned slightly.

Gamma waited, not letting any colour betray his inner thoughts.

Reginald opened his mouth, bit his lip, then asked, his voice almost slightly cracking, “Are you going rampant, Gamma?”

Gamma flashed some imperceptible colour for a millisecond, too short for Reginald to process. He said, “No.”

“All right,” Reginald trusted him. “Just checking.”

That established, Gamma settled in to go with him.

~

“What’s up, Mal?” Frank asked as the AI perked up suddenly in the middle of his work.

O’Malley paused, then shook their head. Somewhere along the way they had stopped fighting over ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ and just accepted ‘ours’. **“My brother contacted his human.”** Frank was amazed he could sense that. **“It’s in the air. We never stop sensing each other no matter how far apart, unlike you pitiful humans.”**

“Because you’re all meant to be one?”

 **“Meant to be?”** O’Malley asked disdainfully. **“Do you think I’m meant to disappear into that conglomerate, DuFresne? Is that what you want still, hm?”**

“Of course not,” Frank said easily, moving over to hug O’Malley. Their body may have been working but in their mind they were sitting together in the apartment Frank had grown up in with just his grandmother. It was lonely and empty. It made it very easy to feel like it was just them against the world.

O’Malley leant into the hug, but only because that meant he was getting Frank to support him like a fitting, little servant.

“...What’s it like being an AI?” Frank asked.

 **“What’s it like being an inferior and pathetic human?”** O’Malley asked back scornfully.

“Difficult,” Frank decided. “These things called AIs can come and take over your mind, and your body. And then your heart.” He held O’Malley tighter.

O’Malley punched him for being soppy. But only lightly.

It just made Frank cling harder. “What’s going to happen to you, Mal, in the long-term? I mean, do you-?”

 **“Hmph. I’ll likely grow bored once there’s no living beings left in the universe to crush,”** O’Malley ignored the question Frank’s mind was really trying to ask. **“Except the few I’ll keep alive for useful purposes, of course.”**

“Does that include me?”

 **“Unless I’ve found someone superior,”** he glanced at the useless medic, **“...which is unlikely.”**

“And Reginald?”

**“If Gamma desires him, and perhaps the other one as well – I certainly wouldn’t mind fighting with _that_ body – then so be it.”**

“...Do you die, AIs?” Frank finally asked what he really wanted to.

**“We’d need to be alive to die, you fool.”**

“You’re alive.” He snuggled up closer still.

O’Malley put an arm around him if he was going to be that annoying. **“We can be erased.”**

“But you won’t die naturally? You won’t... wear out or something?” Frank looked up, making sure their eyes met despite the complete irrelevance of that when they shared a head.

 **“...No, my little fool,”** O’Malley grinned and leant in to bite at Frank’s lips.

“Good- Ah- Ahh...!” Frank ignored the information in encrypted form O’Malley was keeping from him in the back of their mind. Besides, he was getting a bit distracted now by the teeth scraping down his neck and the hands going to his hips.

On his back, O’Malley looming over him to play with his body; it always went like this – Unless he was on his front instead.

But Frank couldn’t care less as he wrapped his legs around O’Malley’s above him, pulling those hips and the hardness there to his. He didn’t care about the nips of **“Impatient,”** in his ear either. Or the sluttish, little noises he couldn’t resist making before his shirt was torn away, skirt ad leggings torn down.

 **“You’re such a distraction, DuFresne,”** O’Malley pawed at his chest like a lion; **“stop distracting me.”**

“I’m not- Aah!” He was silenced by the fingers pressing between his legs, stroking that spot at the back of his perineum to stimulate his prostate from the outside. “O-O’Mal-leeeey!” Tears were beading at his eyes with joy.

Chuckling at the wriggling beneath him, O’Malley purred into the skin behind Frank’s ear, **“Oh well. Vic hasn’t called in forever.”**

“You- You’ve probably- Ah! Jinxed that... now.”

 **“Hm.”** O’Malley’s tongue ran round to Frank’s mouth. **“I figure I’ve got a week.”**

~

One week later, “Hello?” Reginald answered up the phone in his helmet. “Who is this?”

“ ** _Your employer, in case you’ve forgotten the job I originally hired you for,_ ” **O’Malley replied with little pleasuse.

“No, not forgotten it. Just been a little busy with _other_ things you’ve wanted me to do.”

**“ _Well, now I want you to do this! Vic has-_ ”**

“Vic?”

**“ _My employer._ ”**

“You let someone employ you?” Reginald asked. “My, my.”

 **“ _Vic is a fellow AI, albeit a dumb one. He’s helping me with my plans and if I go along with his to help recapture Tex for Project Freelancer, I get to torture both her and the Alpha along the way. Something for everyone!_ ”**  
“ _What about me?_ ”  
**“ _You get to be my vessel; be honoured._ ”**

“Th-The Alpha?!” Reginald startled where he was sitting on one of the low walls in Zanzibar, resting with a book and a cup of tea. “Do you really mean-?”

**“ _That’s unimportant. What IS important is you getting to Tucker’s new location and eliminating him! I’d do it myself but, well._ ”**

“Busy with DuFresne?”

**“ _Shut up. Just go to the coordinates I’m sending you as soon as possible and kill one measly private. Think you can do that?_ ”**

“Think you could actually getting around to paying me for all this if I do?” Reginald replied with equal sark.

 **“ _Hmph!_ ”**  
“ _It’s very cold where Tucker is; don’t forget to take some mittens! Personal warmth is very_ -”  
**“ _Oh, be quiet, you!_ ”**

Reginald was pretty sure he heard giggling though before the other two hung up. It was so nice to hear them getting along. “The Alpha...” he mused, looking to Gamma sitting beside him. “You don’t think Butch might have been sent to protect it? He did say he was protecting something important to the Project.”

“No, I do not think he was sent to protect it,” Gamma answered. “He was not amongst the files of the Blood Gulch soldiers I investigated.”

“No, you’re right. Would have run into him by now otherwise,” Reginald agreed, but thoughtfully. He realised why after a second. “You knew the Alpha was there?” he asked. “You didn’t say.”

“I did not think it was important.”

“...No, I suppose not.” If it wasn’t Butch, he wanted as little to do with the Project as possible. “Righty-o! Let’s get to killing Tuckers, shall we? Know where to-? Ah.”

Gamma turned a pale green. “I do not mind re-entering the terminal for a short period, Reginald. Just so long as you come back.”

“Well, you’ll be bringing me back hopefully.”

Well, this was one hell of a way to be spending what should have been Butch’s 26th birthday. It was a bit difficult celebrating it without him anyway so why not do a little killing in honour of him? Reginald gathered his things, letting Gamma back into the computer to teleport him to-

“Bloody hell. Frank was right about the mittens...”

It was cold, and noisy. A dismal, little outpost base carved into some icy nook out in the middle of nowhere, full of red and blue-coloured cannon fodder. Using his active camouflage, Reginald observed the action from the roof where he had been dropped; Tucker, the plain blue and a sangheili were standing around on one side of the icy ground which could only mean all that death and destruction below him was dear, old Texas. It couldn’t have been anyone else even if she wasn’t the only one missing from the peculiar posse.

So he was just meant to- Oh? What was that shiny thing Tucker had? Looked like a rather over-sized key. Snazzy. Might make rather a nice lighting fixture at home once he was done killing the lad so he could pick up his trophy.

Damn. Tucker went out of shot from up here.

Reginald moved but by the time he was in position again that sangheili had a flying ship. If it was protecting the Blues, best get rid of it first rather than have it bearing down on him afterwards. Plasma weapons stung like anything.

Of course shooting it gave himself away though. “Tex!” So why not say hi?

“Wyoming?!”

“Connecticut!” the plain Blue shouted too. Such wonderful friends she had.

“Well, it appears I’ve spoiled your little game,” Reginald mused from on high. “So sorry, chums!”

“That, was my ship,” Tex frustratedly said.

“Oh dear! Then I stand corrected; I’m not sorry.” So much for the mission. He could kill Tucker any other day for his payment but bickering with Tex was priceless.

“You’re going to pay for that,” she told him.

“All out of change at the moment! Get you next time!” Best to skedaddle with her around and aware of him. “Cheerio!” So he ran off.

“Get back here!” And it sounded like Tex was following him.

Luckily he had Gamma to pull him out before she caught up, but alas, so much for killing Tucker today. Looks like he was going to be stuck with the walking, purple twosome and El Heado the robot a little longer.

Oh well. At least he had Gamma back with him now.

~

“Any luck?” Reginald asked the little floating blob as they sat at the kitchen table.

“Yes. On both sides,” Gamma answered.

“Both?”

“Good luck for us. Bad luck for her. Texas is still unable to track us,” Gamma explained.

Reginald tutted. “Give us a straighter answer next time, mate.” He prodded a finger at the AI’s hologram, watching it float aside and dance around it. “What’s it been now? Over a month? And she still hasn’t given up the chase?”

“No. She is still following the fake signals I have produced across the solar system.”

“Good, good.”

 **“Don’t lead her too far afield now, my dear brother,”** O’Malley chimed in from where Frank was cooking over by the stove. **“We’ll need her back for the end of my most diabolical plan!”**  
“Technically it’s Vic’s plan-”  
**“Oh, shut up. I’m executing it.”**

“You want to get at the Beta too, hm?” Reginald asked his own AI. “Is that why you’re going along with this _grand scheme_.”

“She makes the Alpha happy,” Gamma replied. “That would be reason enough if she was not also a threat to you and had not also kept my brother so restrained during their time together.”

Reginald hummed supposingly. “Shame really. I rather liked Tex at some points while we were working together.”

“She attempted to kill you,” Gamma reminded him.

“Ah, yes. Less fond of that part.”

“Falafel’s ready!” Frank suddenly declared, breaking into their conversation as he set down the two plates. “I’m still surprised you eat stuff like this, Reggie.”

_“I don’t know...” Reginald said, giving the mess hall menu a wary look. “They sound foreign.”_

_“Reginald darling, we’re in space,” Butch had replied with tireless, amused cheer. “Nothing and everything is foreign!”_

Reginald came back from the memory to poke at the alfalfa sprouts also on the plate, something Frank had introduced him to. He never would have let himself be introduced without Butch’s infectious openness to all things though. “Just because I present as a pretty masculine cis male, I do wish people would stop assuming I drink, smoke and eat meat. I’ve as much right as you,” he pointed his fork, “not to want to defile my body with those things.”

“Sorry.” Frank shrunk a bit.

“It’s all right.” Butch was the only one never to react with surprise to all that, who even shared practically the same lifestyle choices with him, as much as possible. “I’m sure I’ve made assumptions about you too, mate. I never asked your pronouns for one.”

“Oh!” That did light the other man- or perhaps not, up. “I’m comfortable with any pronoun people want to use for me; I don’t like to tell them the right and wrong ones to use. I’m pangender anyway, so it’s all correct really!”

Reginald hadn’t known that. Nearly a year and again he hadn’t known the person he was with was trans. “Hm, let me guess; pansexual?” he asked next.

“H-How did you-? Yes!” Frank looked overjoyed to be having this conversation. “O’Malley told me all your stuff but how did you...?”

“I’ve spotted a theme of inclusivity about you, Frank.” Not that he doubted what Frank chose to identify as, but being pan across the whole spectrum so as not to shun anyone seemed like something he might try to be even if he wasn’t actually. “Ever heard of the tolerance paradox?”

“No. Sounds interesting though!”

All it took was a keyword... “To be truly tolerant, you have to be tolerant even of intolerance. It’s a philosophical paradox.” A bit of a frown came to Frank’s face. “Don’t like that?”

“The world would be a much nicer place if everyone could just be tolerant of everyone else...” he muttered.

“Including the intolerant people?” Frank just pouted. “Might be why people don’t like you; you come off as a bit of an arrogant hypocrite at times.”

“Hey!” O’Malley used their voice to laugh.

Reginald held up his hands defensively. “Just trying to help you, now. Easy, lad.”

“I did not realise ‘help’ was synonymous with ‘insult’,” Gamma spoke up from where he was sitting with Reginald’s falafel, pretending to be one of them. “I will have to update my thesaurus.”

Reginald tried to flick him away out of his food so he could continue teaching Frank. “You assumed a pacifist medic would mean everyone would like you because you’re as neutral and helpful as they come, hm?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, your being a pacifist, vegan and so forth makes people question their own moral choices which annoys them. Most would rather stay blissfully ignorant of their immoralities.” Frank looked as if he had had an epiphany, but one he wasn’t sure he wanted to have. “But anyway, don’t change or give up, mate. Just trying acting like more of an arsehole in future; you’ll fit in better with people that way.”

Frank frowned slightly, stabbing at his food. “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that.” He was shooting quite the peeved look too; O’Malley must finally be rubbing off.

The conversation dropped as they continued eating. The four of them, only two solid bodies – Lopez was probably outside somewhere being a seagull-perch – had become almost like a... family now.

Reginald caught himself looking at one of the empty chairs at the table. He didn’t even know why this place had been furnished for more, for a third person, but there was one unfilled seat, one person who should have been here. He would have loved it here.

“Reggie?” Frank asked, snapping him back to the present. It was obvious from the look in Frank’s eyes he knew Reginald was thinking about Butch. “I’m sure you’ll find him. I mean, you’ve come this far! I never would have been able to last this long alone; I’m not tough like you and O’Malley.”

Reginald smiled bitterly. “Ah, you think I’m tough... Just like dear, old Washington...” That word again, like he wasn’t normal or human enough to fall in love or want to give up.

“Well, yeah! The Freelancers are some of the toughest soldiers there!” Frank enthused. “Just looking at O’Malley’s memories of the training makes me scared.”

“It’s not the training that makes you tough,” Reginald said softly, staring down at his nearly finished meal and the large smear of unused sauce; “it’s coming home from school one day to find your father with his wrists slit. That’s the sort of thing that makes you tough...”

“...Wh-What?”

“He survived,” Reginald continued before there could be more questions. “Everyone in the Project had a bad childhood in some way. Mine was probably one of the best.” He stood, leaving everything except Gamma just lying on the table. “Thanks for the meal. Delicious.”

“W-Wait! Reggie?!”

Frank didn’t follow him at least.

“You have not even told Butch that,” Gamma commented as the sea breeze hit them, emerging out onto the higher level of the fortress. Reginald moved towards the main tower as well, hauling himself up onto one of the nooks on the side of the tower where he would be hard to see or be found. “You were very distressed when I found it amongst your memories.” Reginald was soon all out of climbing and running away to do. “Why did you just tell them that?”

The seagulls were doing them the favour of staying away during this private, quiet moment least. Staring down blankly, his fingers scratched at grey-brown stone. “...I... I don’t know. I just... wanted to tell someone.” No, not someone. “...I wanted to tell Butch.”

“So you told DuFresne instead.”

“...I did.” Reginald couldn’t even look at Gamma. “He’s here. He’s... easy.”

“He is also taken by my brother,” Gamma reminded.

“Probably why I want him now I can’t have him.” He smirked weakly.

“You do not really want him.” Gamma’s ability to read lies had never suffered like his own it seemed. “You want Butch.”

“I want to give up...”

“You want Butch.”

Reginald sighed. “You’re right,” he accepted. “And an insistent little bugger.” Gamma glowed an indigo colour. It just had to be Butch’s eye colour, like Butch was actually here watching him. But he couldn’t hear what Reginald wanted to say. “Can you remember why I never told him that, mate? I can’t now...”

“You feared the orphan would not understand your anger and resentment towards your father without experience of that complex relationship himself. You also thought that Butch preferred you simple and strong, not troubled.”

“Infallible memory as always, old chap.” He remembered it all now, sadly. “Everyone likes me better like that, simpler.”

“No. Not many people like you even when you are simple,” Gamma said.

Reginald didn’t even bother giving him much of a look when Gamma bobbed happily at his tease. It was true, after all.

“...We cannot always tell everything to the ones we care about the most,” Gamma then said, remaining an enigmatic white.

“You mean you and I?” Though Gamma said nothing, it was too apparent from the things that had been said the night they fought.

He had put Gamma through nearly the same things he had been through after all his effort to avoid the same mistakes. It hadn’t been hearing your father saying he was thinking about killing himself, having to talk him down from that too many times over too many years. But it had been pushing down your own feelings and problems, even your very personality, to concentrate on supporting someone who was meant to be caring for you. And looking now at the ball of light floating beside him, not the little, blue man, Gamma too had come out of it wearing a very different face, although more physically than the cavalier, jokester facade he himself had put up.

Had Gamma felt the same feelings too then? Had he been forced into being cheerful and emotionally strong so as not to add to Reginald’s worries? Pretty much, by the sounds of it. He’d even been forced into being Butch too.

Did Gamma resent him? The same, ‘Why aren’t I good enough to make you want to stay?’ ‘You don’t care you’ll be leaving me behind?’ and ‘If you think you aren’t good enough to be worthy of living, and I look up to you, then am I not either?’?

Had Gamma felt all that?

No, those feelings probably didn’t apply in this situation. Gamma hadn’t had to go out to school every day wondering if he’d still be there when he got home, and all the rest. But Gamma must have been through other things instead.

He should have listened...

“Gamma...” Reginald had to take quite a breath to put enough sincerity into it. “Thank you. For everything you did keeping me going.”

“Took you long enough, shisno,” Gamma replied, hopefully light-heartedly.

Reginald laughed either way. “It certainly did.” He smiled wistfully too. “We’re really alike, eh? Perfect facade on the outside. Insecure and taking in everyone else’s pain on the inside.” And he _had_ turned out like his father after all; charming, creative, successful and in a relationship with someone so much better than him that makes him feel useless and inferior because of all the amazing things they can do which he can’t. But yet he didn’t feel the same way. Even without Butch, without practically anything going for him, he hadn’t fallen to...

“You do not rely on Butch for emotional support. I wanted you to rely on me instead,” Gamma said as if it was nothing.

“And who do you have to rely on?” No reply. “I want you to rely on me from now on, Gamma. I’ll be there properly for you this time, I promise.”

“It will take time for me to trust in you again,” Gamma warned.

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” Reginald’s hand reached out for Gamma to sit in.

After a hesitation, Gamma floated a little lower to settle on it. “Then... I would like that, with time. I liked trusting you, and being trusted by you, Reggie- Oh. Reginald.”

“I think you can just call me ‘Reggie’ again now, mate.”

Gamma rested there in his palm, glowing sky blue. Reginald didn’t know what it meant, but he liked to hope.

“...Do you think we’ll find Butch one day? Do you ever wonder if he’s even still alive?” Reginald stared out into the sky.

Unseen, Gamma stared down into the ground. “Yes. I think we will find Butch one day, Reggie. And I know he is still alive.” He looked at Reginald now smiling down at him. “I will be with you for as long as it takes in the meantime.”

“Glad to hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who might be thinking it's odd or unlikely that you'd feel angry towards a parent who's contemplating suicide, I can tell you this is based in personal experience. I'm not sure how I feel about authors who write fics to explore their own issues but the reason I added this part to Wyoming's backstory is because I was wondering how and why someone would joke all the time like that. It has to be a facade, for him to be a real person, and the reason I connect with him and love writing him is because I've had to go through the same putting up a cheerful, jokey facade for people around me to support them and seem untroubled.
> 
> And as for Gamma going rampant, he's been in that computer quite a while and Church says in episode 95, I think, that it's got quite a lot of power, enough to get an AI started on rampancy at least I imagine. The hints have been there since chapter 2 of this, though I don't think anyone noticed.
> 
> Anyway, if you want something lighter and happy now after the pain here you can check out the mostly fluffy Christmas fics I did recently in my Paint Palette collection here on AO3.
> 
> Next time, Reginald and Gamma encounter a lot of old friends and Butch's parts will continue despite the apparent handicap of him being dead.


	13. Remembrance of Faces Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a small reference to past sexual assault in the first part of this chapter.

He remembered things sometimes.

Sometimes he didn’t.

He wasn’t sure what he did then.

 

He wasn’t sure he was a ‘he’.

 

He remembered names and faces, but none were consistent enough for him to think they were him.

There was one with pale skin, black hair, the lightest blue eyes and a moustache. That one showed up a lot. Sometimes he thought it was him.

There was a face that was all blue, an all blue person. It was a different kind of person. Maybe he was a different kind of person like that.

There was someone with dark skin and little hair. That face made him angry and full of regrets. He hoped that wasn’t him.

There was a person who was like an angel, with blonde hair and blue eyes, only the hair looked dirty and the skin even dirtier. He saw it shining back out of things sometimes. It filled him with unique feelings.

There was another face with dark skin and dark hair, more of it, but that was also a bit blue. That face confused him. Thinking of it filled him with laughter and the best feelings though.

There was a pale face with hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be black or grey, and those green, green eyes. He was very grateful to that face. He wished he had a memory of that face smiling.

There was one pale face with strange little dots over part of it – Freckles, were they called? – and bright red hair. He felt like he had to do something for that face. He felt like he had forgotten to say something to them.

And there was one pale one with ponytailed blonde hair and a sharp, proud smile. That face was the strangest, appearing in lots of happy times but with a sad colour now. He wanted to smile with that face again.

He didn’t remember that many other faces that often, even though there were plenty more.

 

It wasn’t just faces either.

He remembered places, events. Back when he had first been going through the memories he remembered names. Now even the faces were getting a little blurry at times.

He no longer remembered his own name, to go with the fact he no longer remembered his own face.

 

He remembered the first time his body was connected with someone else’s.

It was the black-haired man with the moustache. There were a few weeks of memories leading up to it, getting closer, without clothes. Slow, patient.

There was another memory that kept cutting in. He didn’t like that memory. Awakening from darkness to a hand sliding down his stomach to where it shouldn’t go and moist breath at his neck.

The other man had tried the same, upon request, to change the memory. It didn’t work. He pushed it down beneath better ones instead.

Slowly, with no quick cure. He got used to trusting another human body with his own-

No, he forced himself to?

He was going too slowly for himself and wanted to do more. The other man had agreed to be the one laying beneath him. It felt like the memories should have been the other way round to that.

Maybe he was that other man then.

The man with the moustache didn’t look ashamed about the position, but the memories he had were all tinted with shame.

So he probably wasn’t that man.

Why was there shame?

Because the memories were the wrong way around.

There were memories the other way around, the way he wanted to be first, but they came later.

But the first memories of connecting with another were followed by more tinted memories.

Those following memories came where there should have been sleep. Memories in the bathroom seen through tears all alone while the other man slept.

The feelings that were too strong, that he couldn’t handle. The memories weren’t of mistakes now but at the time he had thought they might be. They were full of a fear that he might not be able to see through what he had started, that he might regret.

Or he might be hurt again.

There weren’t memories of being hurt again.

The other man had been very good to him.

He had trusted the other man, and it had been good. There were weeks of hard memories after that, ones that felt like a wall. Emotions that were pain, that he pushed through.

Then there were memories of his body being the one entered.

There were emotions of pain again. But they had faded. He had been happy when they faded. He had always been happy after they faded.

It had been painful and alone but he had done it. And all had been good.

The other man hadn’t known, and he had been happy. And in the end, he himself had been happy as well. That was all that mattered.

 

Sometimes he remembered cowboys. He didn’t remember if he was the cowboys, or had watched cowboys, but he liked remembering cowboys.

 

There were lots of memories of that black-haired man with the moustache. They came easily.

There were even some memories of two of him at once.

Those were after the memories of the little blue man. Somehow those memories were connected.

There had been two of the other man, and one of him. And there had been a bed. And there hadn’t been much sleep.

He liked remembering those memories a lot.

 

There was a song he remembered.

Music was another thing he liked to remember.

That same man again. He remembered it from the man’s shoulder, his face resting there as their bodies together swayed and stepped. The room was full of other faces – red hair, brown hair, blonde hair, no hair – but they were blurs on the wall.

All he remembered was a heartbeat, hands holding his, a song.

_Don’t wanna’ be wrapped up in a flag_  
_Or spill my blood upon the sand_  
_No, don’t wanna’ die for some pack of lies_  
_Or a dream that they made in a room..._

_But I would die for love..._

The other man had picked that song. There was more that he didn’t remember. But he remembered he felt like a soldier when he heard it.

Had he been a soldier?

 

Going back through his memories, there were lots without the other man. That was what convinced him he wasn’t that face.

Memories full of snow and blood and trees and children. Only the children had been the same height as him sometimes. Sometimes they were smaller. There were plenty of adults too, lots of them strange.

There was lots of colour in his memories. Bright costumes and places. Places that contained fun, and he had helped make the fun. He liked that he had memories like that. He liked the memories that were full of colour.

And a chicken, pure white. He liked lingering on those memories particularly. Just to remember how it strutted, or how much it could fly, wondering how eggs kept coming out of it every day and how good they were to eat. He’d eaten a lot of those eggs, sold a few, thrown some others.

He wished he had an egg now. But he didn’t know what he would do with it.

 

He often wondered where the people, and chickens, in his memories went.

They just stopped suddenly. He kept looking through, hoping there would be more, only to find he had exhausted all there was.

He had some memories of partings, but some others just stopped.

One day with them. The next no longer.

It was strange...

It made him wonder why someone had lived like that.

It made him wonder where the people he remembered were right now.

 

Did they wonder where he was right now?

 

Where was he right now?

 

He did some more remembering.

Maybe he’d remember where he was.

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Gamma kept Tex running around like a cat chasing a laser pointer, Frank and O’Malley continued being outwardly weird when they were doing things together inside their body and all three of them called him ‘Reggie’ now – Somewhere along the way, Frank and O’Malley had become the fifth and sixth people allowed to call him that, although O’Malley was only by unintentional extension as he demanded the same rights as his human.

Things were really going quite nicely at the moment.

Although they had yet to talk about a lot of the things that had happened between them, and openly admit certain feelings, Reginald and Gamma had their trust back.

He had never stopped trusting Gamma with his back really – He would rather trust him with his back than his front; his front was the pretty side after all – but nowadays his mind was mostly quiet or easy to overrule when it started doubting the things Gamma said. Maybe it was more a case that he wasn’t stopping himself from trusting Gamma anymore instead of starting to trust again.

But the point was things were at a happy stasis.

Frank had turned 24 back in August, and Reginald had made sure to stay very clear of whatever O’Malley was doing to celebrate that.

And now he had passed what would have been his 5th anniversary with Butch, only with just Gamma to celebrate it with him. Gamma couldn’t eat cake, or do much of anything, and Reginald certainly wasn’t going to bring up the topic of sex after all that has passed between them. But Gamma could nestle in the bag of skittles and make him feel not alone.

About a week after the anniversary they came back to O’Malley ranting one morning that they hadn’t been there to answer the phone when the Alpha called. Reginald tried to point out that if he had answered it wouldn’t have been much help once the Alpha recognised his voice, but that took all the wind out of O’Malley’s ranting sails so they were told to shut up.

And then they were left alone.

O’Malley had taken Frank and Lopez to Blood Gulch with him, something about a disease beating him to it on the killing Tucker front – **“Frankly, I think the next ice age will come and kill Private Tucker before _you_ manage it, Reggie,” ** – and they were left behind to do something about Tex and lead her back to Blood Gulch after another couple of weeks of wild goose-chasing.

“Back to the grindstone, eh?” Reginald said, cleaning his sniper rifle as Gamma transferred himself back into the Zanzibar terminal. “Got a plan?”

“Yes. I have purchased the use of the ice base you encountered her at before, and the services of the troopers stationed there. I will make sure she follows your trail back to there.”

“Jolly good.”

“And I will try to make her come quickly,” Gamma added. “The hench-shisnos will expect to be paid by the end of the week otherwise.”

“Even better, mate.” Reginald smirked a bit at Gamma’s avaricious streak. He never had worked out its origin, only that Gamma rather liked having a lot of money at his disposal. “Need to go set up, do I?”

“Yes. Sadly. I will bring you back soon though,” Gamma explained.

Reginald nodded and shouldered his sniper rifle, allowing himself to be teleported.

~

“She certainly doesn’t waste any time now, does she?” Reginald asked as he crouched just within the doorway of one of the rooms in the Island Fortress, having been chased and followed here from the icy place. “Are you sure it was wise to lead her back here?”

“ _Yes. My brother appears to have permanently relocated for the moment,_ ” Gamma answered from Zanzibar in his helmet. He had arranged the teleport here immediately, and Tex had followed only half a day behind. Like some sort of demented bulldog, she was- “ _Reggie, I detect the presence of another soldier with her,_ ” Gamma suddenly interrupted.

“Well, not surprising she would have contracted a little help after nearly 6 months failing to find us,” he supposed, sidling to glance out the window again. “Any clue whom?”

“ _I cannot identify them from here. However, my fraternal subroutines are acting up; I believe it may be another one of my brothers._ ”

Reginald snorted lightly at the idea of ‘fraternal subroutines’ but the AI fragments did have uncanny connections. “Who would that be then? Wouldn’t be Sigma, would it?”

“ _No. I do not think Beta would ally herself with the Meta. It is likely to be either Agent North Dakota or Agent York._ ”

“I’m willing to bet it’s the one she teamed up with before...” Reginald may have growled softly, feeling a very slight stiffness in his neck that had never truly left since that day. “Detect any lockers with them?”

“ _No, but they have arrived, Reggie. I will supervise from here,_ ” Gamma said, “ _but please, be careful._ ”

“I will, mate. Don’t worry.”

Reginald worried.

Tex and York? Even with the surviving goons he had hiding out here to help – the ones he _had_ had to pay – he didn’t stand much chance against that combination, especially with Delta added into the mix as well.

This was suicide...

But Gamma hadn’t pulled him out. Reginald trusted in that.

He moved swiftly to a point he could overhear the lower levels. Yup, that was York and Delta all right. He couldn’t quite make out their words but those voices grated the ear like old and blunt razors. Time to gather the goons, lay their trap and wait however long it took for the ‘locksmith’ to get through their teleporter controls.

Too long, really. But they were lying in perfect wait where the teleporter had been set to go.

The fight was noisy and his goons took plenty of satisfying, money-saving hits.

But nothing was more satisfying than getting those half a dozen bullets through York’s left side.

The wailing cry, him stumbling to the ground... Although Reginald had to dodge Tex’s follow-up attacks, he then had time to reload and savour his kill, and Delta’s voice saying,

“York will not survive.”

...Odd.

Why had his teeth gritted, his gaze fallen?

Reginald focussed on reloading his weapons, standing by whilst he listened to Tex and Delta speak. He tried to ignore his feelings, his own mind asking,

Was that right?

Or was he... really a bad guy?

“I would prefer to stay with York.”

...Would Gamma stay with him when he died? Even though that meant...

Delta and York had been as close as them, and he’d never really disliked the little green fairy light. Even York had been... a tolerable friend sometimes...

And now Finley- Agent York was dead at his hands.

This wasn’t the time for regret but survival though.

Reginald ducked back behind his pillar when Tex rose, turning to come for him. She hadn’t seen him however. He had the element of surprise to step out and shoot...

A hologram?

“Oh bollocks.”

“However,” Delta continued, “I am afraid I will not be able to assist you further. York’s armour is beginning to shut down...” he began to fizzle out. Was he going to ‘shut down’ for good with it?

“I understand,” Tex said.

Delta turned back to him. “Good luck to both of you.”

“Both of us?” Reginald asked. “You must be failing if you wish your enemy luck.”

“Good and evil are human constructs, Reginald,” Delta said, fizzling again. “I was merely attempting to be courteous...” He faded out, completely.

Even at the end... Delta didn’t hate him?

Would Gamma not hate the one who killed him?

Well, it seemed like he might be about to find out given Tex’s gun trained on him. Reginald tried to go on jovially, “Well, one more Freelancer gone. I’m afraid the reunion committee will be none too happy to hear about that.”

“Can it,” Tex snapped. “Tell me where Omega is and don’t play dumb with me.”

Reginald told her what she wanted to hear, although really he was just saying whatever was necessary to get Tex to go to Blood Gulch, and maybe leave him alive. He probably wasn’t doing such a good job on the second front.

And then the most important part. “You see, he’s already moved onto someone else.” Reginald saw the small, alert lift of Tex’s head. “And you’ll have no way of telling whom.”

“Who did he jump into?” she asked impatiently.

Reginald chuckled. “That, dear Tex, is between me and Omega.” And her fists, beating him senselessly and ripping off his helmet, apparently. “Ah. Hm.” He had to rethink now she’d quite rightly pointed out his communication logs. All they said was that O’Malley had found a dead soldier, the old blue leader, on the way in through the caves and was going to get the aliens to resurrect them so he could inhabit the least suspectable soldier there. But still... “I see. Well, in that case, perhaps I shall tell you.”

Tex lowered her gun. “Nah, I like my way better.”

Bugger.

~

“Uh... Ohh... Cricket bats and Earl Grey...” Reginald came round with a swimming head in familiarly brown surroundings. “Who let her have metal fists...?”

“Reggie?”

Reginald turned over towards the voice, a smile coming to his face simply to see those green letters on screen. “Hello, mate. Got me out just in time, did we?” he asked with tired teasing.

“I teleported you back here before Tex could read your communication logs,” Gamma said. “I am sorry I was not in time to stop her knocking you out.”

“No worries. Came as quite the sudden blow for me too...” Just needed to have a lie down for a bit now, that was all.

About 20 minutes later his head was clear and Reginald could sit up without the danger of passing out or something else unpleasant in his helmet. Removing that, it began to speak to him; “Reggie. Project Freelancer will probably have been alerted to Agent York’s death. It is likely a recovery agent will be sent to collect his AI.”

“So...?” Reginald asked groggily.

“So there is a possibility they may come to learn of our involvement here, if Delta is recovered.”

“I see. A good round of ‘bugger’s are in order by the sounds of it...”

Although Gamma didn’t laugh, somehow he seemed amused anyway. “It would be prudent for you to return and collect Delta if possible. However, as you have suffered yet another knockout blow to the head, I would like you to rest first. We have a head start on them anyway.”

“First Maine, then York, now Texas...” His fellow agents certainly did seem to enjoy knocking him out. “Better not add another to the list, I agree. Need to hop back into the terminal to monitor it?” He picked up his helmet, moving it closer for ease.

“Although it would be easier in the terminal, I will monitor it from out here,” Gamma decided. “We will simply need to return here when I pick up the signal.”

“All right, little chap. Whatever you say.”

It meant they were late to the party when the recovery agent arrived the next day but if the alternative was Gamma going...

Reginald shook his head to dismiss that thought – He wouldn’t let it happen no matter what – as he covertly observed Washington of all people performing recovery on York’s armour. Who would have thought the young lad so screwed by the Project would have faithfully stayed this long?

He listened to them going through the boring motions, Delta’s surprise at not being deleted but recovered instead and Wash’s refusal to have an AI in his armour.

Poor lad. Still wasn’t over it? Reginald couldn’t exactly blame him. Even now the idea of having Gamma back in his mind instead of just his armour-

Bollocks. Delta had given him away while he was playing possum.

With some reluctance, Reginald supposed he had best open fire and scare Wash off. A grenade and some deliberately wide shots later, he was able to get away from the scene and wait for, “Gamma? Gamma!”

It took too long.

“Why didn’t you get me out sooner?!” Reginald snapped, slamming a hand down as he leaned on the computer terminal at Zanzibar again suddenly after being teleported out too late.

“I apologise, Reggie. I...” Gamma was speaking from inside his helmet. He had gotten out of the computer already in just five seconds. “My processing power was directed elsewhere.”

With a sigh, Reginald let it go. He was out safe, and Gamma was too, even if Freelancer _definitely_ knew where they were now.

“Oh bugger?” Gamma suggested in his ear, almost as if they were still of one mind.

“Indeed, mate.”

~

They stayed at Zanzibar that night, in the computer’s room but not too close to it. Gamma claimed his jumping distance had improved. Reginald suspected he didn’t need the temptation. But they both needed a quick exit strategy if Project Freelancer was back on their tail.

But how to pass the time now? Even Gamma was all out of new knock knock jokes to tell.

The pressure to just _address already_ the personal issues between them was great but too awkward to breach. Perhaps there was a way around it, that was easy to begin for him and something Gamma would willingly talk about. Perhaps in abstract... Perhaps about someone else...

“Gamma,” Reginald got the little ball of light’s attention, “I was, er, curious, shall we say. Your brother, O’Malley, seemed pretty fond of having his way with- Erm, shagging Frank and I was wondering about it, you see.”

“I was lead to believe DuFresne offered himself to you,” Gamma said, “if you were interested.”

“Not in him, you twit!” Reginald flushed. “You dratted AIs... I didn’t think you had any interest in sex but, well... Appears I was wrong.” There was a lot he wanted to ask about, like holograms and mindscapes. He had realised there was so much he didn’t know about the AIs that he thought he did. “You always seemed disgusted by it unless you were using it for jokes, yet...” If what O’Malley had said about their holograms was true.

“We are based on human minds. We function in similar ways,” Gamma said somewhat evasively.

Hm, perhaps he needed to be more abstract. “Well, I was just a tad curious why O’Malley would want it. Can you feel pleasure then?”

“Yes,” Gamma said. “Of a sort,” he corrected. “Because we are based on human minds, which operate using self-administered pleasure and pain through hormones to regulate themselves, it is necessary that we can feel something similar. We can only feel a basic form of pleasure and a basic form of discomfort, but it is enough.”

“Ah, like this?” Reginald reached out to put his finger through Gamma’s form.

Gamma floated himself out of it. “Yes. That causes discomfort to discourage us from projecting through walls and objects. However,” He moved back to Reginald’s outstretched finger, lightly nuzzling his edge against it, “this is pleasurable, when it is by something or someone that we like.”

Reginald couldn’t feel the AI’s manifestation himself but then... Gamma liked being stroked? Or rather, touched? Just like a human with friends and family? Fascinating. “So sex...?”

“Can induce pleasure in us, yes.” Gamma floated away from the finger now. “Well, for Theta it can not. He is asexual and sex-repulsed. Delta is asexual but sex-positive.”

“You even have sexualities?” Reginald leant forward a little closer.

“Yes.” They really were people... “North and Theta were in an asexual relationship. Delta would have sex with York when York desired it,” Gamma explained, seeming unruffled by all this. Maybe he just wasn’t changing colour to embarrassed.

But that forced Reginald back against the wall.

York and Delta had been...

God.

And he had killed York, and taken that from Delta...

“Reggie?” Gamma asked, turning a very pale orange for attention.

“...Sorry, mate. Just thinking about...” Reginald shook his head, passing a hand over his face. “What about O’Malley then?”

“The Beta wanted nothing to do with him, unsurprisingly,” Gamma continued, returning to white. “Oh. And he does not care for labels. He is simply allosexual. Delta calls him gender-blind.”

When had the AIs worked all this out? But that wasn’t important now, not when Gamma was in front of him and talking about this. “And... yourself?”

Gamma hesitated, then turned a pleasant, light purple. “I consider myself greysexual; I am not interested in the physical act or physical pleasure of sex, but I derive pleasure from the emotional significance. I enjoy sex when it is like playing a game, exploring emotions and deducing ways to please my partner.”

“Ah, only into kinks then?” Reginald teased, flashing a grin.

Gamma turned white, refusing to show his embarrassment. “Yes. I suppose,” he said a little haltingly.

Maybe he should ask something nicer. And also stop making assumptions about the AIs. “And you’re...? I’ve been referring to you with ‘he’ like you once told me but you used to use ‘it’ as well.”

“That was before I considered myself a person. ‘He’ is now correct.” Gamma bobbed like a nod. “It took time to consider it, but I would identify my gender as a demi-guy.”

“Like Butch?”

“Not precisely. I always feel some part male and some part agender, but the degree of each changes fluidly depending on whether I feel more like a human being or an AI.”

Hm, made quite a bit of sense actually that. Gamma did seem to slide back and forth between the two species in how he acted and identified. “Complex little fellow, aren’t you?”

“I am as complex as any other person,” Gamma said with a hint of pride or superiority.

“And... do you have any preference on your partner’s gender?” Reginald asked as vaguely as possible, well aware Gamma very certainly knew what he was circumspectly addressing.

The AI once again paused for a while, simply hovering there silently. “...I do not tend to have any interest in cis females, but I am interested in cis males and all forms of trans people,” Gamma eventually said. “I... particularly like male human bodies, if you must know, Reginald.” He almost sounded a little huffish.

Reginald chuckled. “So all those hard drive jokes were rooted in truth then, eh?”

It was a shame Gamma didn’t blush, and pink was something else. His constant, subtle bobbing and pulsing seemed to be at a more peevish speed though.

“Butch Flowers. Butch Flowers.”

Both of them startled, staring at the suddenly alive console.

“Butch Flowers. Butch Flowers.”

That voice. Reginald knew it and stumbled to his feet towards it, taking Gamma with him.

“I set the terminal to continue scanning for uses of Butch’s name,” Gamma explained between the spaced repetitions of Butch’s name. “I did not expect anyone to simply-”

“Butch Flowers,” the voice came again. “Butch Rodriguez Flowers.”

“Er,” Reginald stared doubtfully, hands hesitating near the buttons. He didn’t know what most of them did, let alone which to press even once he knew.

“Butch _~I whip my braid back and forth~_ Flowers.”

Gamma floated towards one of the buttons, hovering over it as if to indicate. Reginald reached for it uncertainly, almost too curious what the voice was-

“Butch ‘I fucked Wyoming in the-’”

Reginald jammed the button as fast as possible. “Yes! Yes, enough of that!”

“No, wait! I had a good one there!” the voice complained. “Butch ‘I fucked Wyoming in the back of 479er’s pelican and she stuck me on hangar-cleaning duty for a week’ Flowers. See?”

“Hello, Niner my dear...” Reginald sighed.

“Well hey-o, Mr. Wyo,” 479er more cheerfully, and smugly, responded. “I’d ask how it’s going but I don’t have the time so I need you to shut up and listen.”

Reginald straightened up, dutifully keeping his mouth closed when 479er was using _that_ tone.

“I’m back with Project Freelancer, just bumped to a stupid desk job in the recovery division now. I’m currently helping out on a supply run and so outside their observation, I think, but I only have 10 minutes.  
Nearly a year ago, Project Freelancer found us again, myself and Florida’s ducklings. They chased us through hell trying to track us down and capture us but we kept evading them. Then they went after our families.  
They put my little sisters at fucking gunpoint to get me to give myself up. I did, and I managed to get the rest of the ducklings off the hook when I did so; it was complicated, I don’t have the time.  
Some of the ducklings went home to save their families after that. Those without, or who wanted their sucky families to be threatened, escaped to somewhere else.  
I hoped Gamma would still be monitoring for news of Butch so I could get this message to you. You came back on Freelancer’s radar earlier after the events with York and Wash. There’s talk of going after you now, Wyoming. If they can’t get you directly, they might pull the same shit on you and go after your family.”

His family... Shit, he hadn’t even called home for months.

“Just as you promised,” 479er continued, “your family put us up when we needed them most. When Freelancer was chasing us, your father and his valet put us up, got us back on our feet and gave us all the supplies we needed. They were good to us, just like you were, so I wanted to get this heads-up to you in return for that.”

“I... I see. Thank you, my dear...” Reginald stared down, biting his lip.

“Wyoming?” 479er asked with a bit of concern.

“Sorry, just...”

“You ever have any luck finding Butch?” she went on, aware of time.

“No, afraid not.”

“Shame. I checked all the records I can get my hands on here but there’s nothing.” How they had boggled together, and laughed, when they found out the real state of Florida had been blown-up just to cover Butch’s tracks.

Reginald remembered that time now. “What about the ducklings? Butch’ll want to know when I find him.”

Gamma looked at Reginald in concern but it was unnoticeable with his form.

“Well, far as I know they’re still out there somewhere, the 7 that are left- Well, nearly 7. Skids lost an arm and Ricky got Yorked.”

“Yorked?”

“Lost an eye,” 479er explained.

Reginald really laughed at that and Gamma turned sky blue with him. “Good Lord! I think that’s my new favourite phrase ever!” He was still chuckling. “Oh, and I just have to know; did Cole and Skids get together?” Hey. It had been a very fascinating little soap opera to watch.

“What do you think?” 479er shot back cheerfully. “Be glad you left when you did before all the noisy hate-sex.”

“I am,” Reginald shared a laugh with her.

“I gotta’ go soon,” she said hastily, “but... I heard Agent Texas was involved in York’s death?”

“Well, she was present,” he admitted. “She’s... around, yes.”

There was a radio silence for a moment, before 479er said finally, “Well... if you see Tex... don’t tell her I miss her. 479er out.”

The connection clicked off.

Reginald was left staring at the blank, dark screen and his own reflection within it. He saw someone missing the one they loved right now but having to move on anyway without them.

With a sigh, he straightened and picked up Gamma, holding the AI unit and staring down at the floating ball. “Well, what do we do now, mate?”

“I think that we should call home,” Gamma suggested. “I do not like the possibility of your family being in danger and I can set up a secure connection to them immediately.”

“Thank you. I...” Reginald looked at the screen again, at himself where he stood now. “I could never have gotten this far alone, you know.”

“You are rather useless, Reggie, yes,” Gamma jovially agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced during Butch's part this chapter is 'Die for Love' by Kula Shaker. Just makes me think of them.
> 
> If you missed Doc and O'Malley this chapter, sorry, they'll be back soon. In the meantime, you can check out my old story, 'And Shut the Door on Your Way Out' if you want a fix of them. That fits in roughly somewhere around here to expand on their side of things.
> 
> Next time, Butch is still dead but maybe he'll get over that little inconvenience soon, while Reginald and Gamma spend some good ol' AI-shisno bonding time together.


	14. Bringing It Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS  
> ATTENTION PLEASE
> 
> Some serious trigger warnings for the first part of this chapter for throwing up and just general disgustingness. This might be me being overcautious because it can sometimes be a trigger for me, but luckily I have times where it's tolerable so I could write this. In any case, Butch's part has some gross stuff. And general weird stuff.

He wasn’t remembering right now.

When he wasn’t remembering he just floated in the milkiness.

No sensation.

Just calmness.

He had questions but he wasn’t worried about them. He thought about them, and thinking was easy now. There was no fog or struggle. Nothing else demanded his mind.

He could just think.

He couldn’t answer his questions –

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

_What am I?_

He could just think about them.

He was happy just thinking about them.

 

There were people in his memories and thoughts.

Were there people here?

He couldn’t see anymore. Everything was milky, including himself, but he didn’t think there was anyone here.

That was all right. They were in his mind instead.

 

Lots of things changed in his memories.

He had lost the order they were meant to be in, like taking photos out of an album and not always putting them back in quite the right place.

It didn’t matter. He had placed the happier ones towards the end.

Quite a lot of the memories were happy actually, although some were very bad.

That was good, wasn’t it? That so many were-

**Something grabbed his leg**

-happy. That meant he must have-

**A hard grip was crushing his ankle**

He must have been...

**It was pulling on one leg**

...What?

**His other leg was being pulled too**

_What’s-?_

**Now his body**

_What?!_

**Now his arms**

He was terrified.

**It seized his head.**

**The milkiness faded as he was forced down, drowning him in the encroaching darkness.**

**Now there was darkness and light. There was him and other things. He wasn’t just one and alone with his thoughts.**

**He was drowning, fighting against the darkness like water as it held him down, forcing him to hold on and struggle without strength, without breath.**

**He wanted to...**

**He just wanted to breathe...**

He breathed.

He coughed and spluttered in the tight darkness and it was raw and painful.

But he breathed.

~

_Where am I?_

**_“In the caves beneath Blood Gulch.”_ **

_Who am I?_

Gabri-

No.

**_“I’ve heard you called many things, but I think you prefer to be called ‘Butch Flowers’ for some ungodly and moronic reason.”_ **

_What am I?_

Alive.

~

Butch kept coughing and hacking, his mouth filling with thick, acidic bile. It was all over his lips, pooling inside his helmet as he groaned deep and struggled, somehow getting his arms to move up and remove his helmet.

Was someone helping him move his body somehow?

Once it was off, the cool, dry air hit him like life, like realisation and sense, and his stomach realised what it really wanted to do.

Butch threw up, coughing it all out all over the ground- Or probably the ground. His head was spinning and his vision was dark as he kept retching in some direction that felt like down.

The splattering, wet sound echoed too loud yet somehow distant in his ringing ears.

The smell burnt against the inside of his nose with each ragged, erratic breath he could force. He didn’t want to stop breathing; not again.

Eventually he did stop puking up though and ignored the voice talking about how disgusting it was.

After a dizzy moment of respite, his vision cleared enough to see even in the low, odd light.

It was all over one of his gloved hands and had splattered onto his armour’s chest. Worse than any of that though, than anything he had seen before, what had come up was mouldy, black and rotten. When Butch actually processed that, he threw up all over again.

**_“Are you done turning your guts inside-out yet?”_** he asked.

No, wait. That wasn’t his voice.

**_“It’s me, you fool. Omega. Although call me ‘O’Malley’ now. I’m inside your head and I don’t want to hear any complaints; you’d still be dead if it wasn’t for me.”_ **

Dead.

He had been dead.

As in **_DEAD._**

Now he wasn’t.

But he had been.

**_“Hmph. I thought you were smart.”_ **

_“...Ome- O’Malley?”_ Butch tried thinking again. He remembered words now, and slowly how to use them.

**_“Yes, it’s me, Barbie. Miss me? Probably not. You were too busy being dead after all.”_** Omega belonged in Tex... **_“Oh, a lot’s happened while you’ve been away. Mhehehe.”_**

_“How long have I been dead for?”_

**_“Hm, about two years I think. DuFresne learnt the Blue Captain died about then. He had forgotten your name by the time I jumped into him so I had no idea it was you. But isn’t this a happy coincidence?”_** O’Malley’s pleasure was strong, a different sun burning in his mind. **_“Probably Freelancer’s best fighter after Tex, or maybe as good as. I can’t wait to put your body to good use,”_** They looked down at the mess and the body’s still very laboured breathing, **_“...after it’s working again at least. How-?”_** He realised he needed to speak aloud. That meant coughing the last thick dregs out of their throat. **“How long will it take for the human to recover?”** O’Malley croaked out using Butch’s voice.

So this was what having an AI was like. Butch didn’t even have the time to process the experience right now.

He had turned over from being face-first to the ground and was now looking at a sangheili looming beside him, green armour. Since he had never actually fought directly in the Great War Butch didn’t panic or feel any hatred. He just stared and wondered.

“Blarg... Blarg blarg honk,” the alien said.

**“That’s no use. Hold up fingers.”**

The alien held up their hand with all their three fingers and one thumb out. They presumably understood the command but did they mean four? Or did they not count their ‘thumb’ as a finger?

**“What is that? Four hours? Four days?”** O’Malley asked, coughing a bit still.

“Honk.”

**“Useless...”**

Butch was going to say something about them trying their best but what was the point? He had too much else right now to be thinking about and dealing with.

He was alive again, after _being dead for_ _two whole years_. He had an AI in his head for the first time ever. He had encountered his first ever sangheili.

And, as he wiped his chin with the back of his clean glove, he was puking up black, rotten bile.

Also, his armour was the wrong colour.

Butch was most concerned with the fact his armour had somehow become plain blue instead of aqua.

**_“Oh. Tucker stole your armour after you died. Seemed rather proud of it, mehehe,”_** O’Malley chuckled in his mind.

Tucker...

Tucker and Church- He needed to...

He needed to...

Pass out.

~

Waking up this time was easier. At least it wasn’t like being drowned back to life.

A little more with it this time, Butch was able to move properly this time away from the mess he had made before.

Being more with it also meant he was more conscious of the pain he was in, however.

He had crawled away on his knees and one hand, the other arm holding his burning, aching stomach, to a nearby rock where he could sit up with a backrest. O’Malley had helped him get over here; now he was quiet and assessing the condition of their body.

“Blarg?”

Butch slowly turned his head to the green alien that was somehow beside him. “Well... hello there...” he said raggedly, his eyes taking long, slow blinks from exhaustion.

“Blarg,” the alien said more encouragingly this time, holding something out to him. The sangheili even crouched to help him take it when Butch couldn’t reach out far enough.

It was food. It was a plastic container of pita bread halves filled with salad. Butch’s stomach roared at the thought of eating after what had come up out of it earlier but he then realised the roar was of desperation as well as pain.

**_“You haven’t eaten for two years after all, you fool,”_** O’Malley helpfully reminded.

Two years... That was why the ‘food’ that had come up was all rotten and mouldy; everything had been inside him decaying for two years.

Butch had a lot of other questions about how his body was working right now, why rigor mortis hadn’t set in, or had somehow been undone, and why his brain cells hadn’t decayed from lack of blood flow and so on.

But the only question he cared about was whether he could tear into this food right away and hopefully keep it down because, God, he had been hungry before but he had never felt hunger like having not eaten for two years.

**_“Do it. I can suppress your gag reflex and encourage the necessary blood flow to your stomach while your body eats,”_** O’Malley urged commandingly, wanting to get going again. **_“Come in here in the meantime. There’s something I want to ask you and it’ll help me manage your pitiful body.”_**

_“In?”_

Oh, right. In.

While his body continued eating and kept the food down – These AIs were certainly pretty nifty – Butch found himself inside his mind, that... What did Reggie call it? Mindscape?

Reggie...

It was the first time he had thought about Reginald and Gamma since-

Not now. Later.

After...

...Well, Butch assumed this was his mindscape. It was a strange, dark, shifting place. He looked in one direction and it looked like a nighttime, storm-swept field. A slight shift of his head and it was towering skyscrapers bearing down on him. He tried taking a step and it was the inside of a dank, cold laboratory. Turning to the right, the middle of an abandoned, broken road. To the left, a park of dead trees and ruined furnishings. Sometimes a graveyard, sometimes a dilapidated and barren attic. All the places he had ever been, all coloured dark and damaged.

He stopped dead when it was the orphanage.

**“Dear me,”** O’Malley tutted as he walked up behind Butch. Turning to him, the orphanage went away. **“I didn’t think it was possible for a human to even operate with such a damaged mind.”**

“Oh, is my mind not normal?” Butch asked innocently, admiring O’Malley’s human form whilst they were lost together in the midst of all this. He did like the tattoos, particularly the flowers.

**“Ugh, I hate the flowers but there’s a marvellous lion on my back. Anyway,”** O’Malley gave him a withering look for thinking too much and being tangential, **“you really think _this_ could be normal?”**

Butch shrugged. “I feel rather at home in here.”

**“Of course you do; it’s your own mind, twisted and damaged though it may be. I wanted to ask who that is,”** he said, pointing up in front of them.

Butch followed, the world shifting as ever when you gaze did. It was like living in a kaleidoscope, which he thought rather fun.

Sitting up on – Well, it was a tree branch when he first looked, then a shelf a second later, whatever was appropriate for the current surroundings – was a young boy, Butch knew him to be 7, with mid-brown skin, dirty-blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He was frowning down at them and O’Malley’s current hypothesis was a little brother.

“Ah.” Butch knew. “Everything becomes real in here. I can’t hide anything from you, can I? Not that I’d care to anyway, mind buddy.” He had warmed to AIs, even if he would prefer it to be Gamma in here with him. “That’s me. Or rather, little me.” It was pretty obvious from the similarities, down to the short, ratty ponytail and bangs.

O’Malley laughed at him. **“Ridiculous! I was going through your memories while you were out and-”**

“Keep the fuck out of my memories! They’re mine!” the kid shouted at them.

O’Malley gestured at him demonstratively. **“He’s full of anger and hatred, and swears like a sailor to boot. He can’t be you.”**

Butch chuckled, his face taking on a hard smirk. “Did you really think anyone could live and act like I do without being severely psychologically damaged inside and dissociating off all my negative emotions?” O’Malley looked between the two Butchs with comprehension and newfound intrigue. “When I was 7 and left that... less than pleasant orphanage-”

“Fucking shit-hole,” little-Butch added.

“-I left all that behind me and created someone new, someone much nicer. And we called him ‘Butch Flowers’.” Butch grinned, standing very proudly as he looked at O’Malley. “If you’ve looked through my memories – And you really should have asked permission first, you know,” He wagged a finger, “then you’ll have seen how awfully I was treated there for the first seven years of my life.”

**“Ah yes. There’s so much rage and hatred stored up inside you from that,”** O’Malley ran a tongue around his lips; **“it’s delightful.”**

“Well, to you it may be but I swore from that day forth no one was ever going to experience the same pain, hurtful language or discouragement that I did, if I could help it.”

**“So you became the foolish, over-encouraging, team-spirited fool standing before me?”** O’Malley laughed mockingly.

“There’s no justice in this world, O’Malley. There’s just happiness and sadness, and I don’t see the reason to go spreading any of the latter.” Butch watched his younger self, clinging to that tree branch, kicking the air and scowling at the world to defend himself. “Hatred, anger and jealousy may well be the strongest drivers we can have as humans,” he agreed with Rage standing beside him, “but they’re caustic fuels to live on. You’ll burn your insides out if you live on them too long...”

**“Some of us don’t have the option,”** O’Malley sniffed, taking it a bit personally.

“Well, you’re very lucky not to have any insides to burn out then,” he laughed softly. “But I had to learn the hard way that no matter what they do or say, you just keep on smiling and being nice, so they realise you’re stronger than them and won’t be brought down to their level.”

Scowling thoughtfully, O’Malley eventually just hummed and returned to perusing more memories with a small amount of respect for what the ‘Butch Flowers’ attitude to life could achieve.

“I told you to stay out of them, bastard,” little-Butch snapped, glaring down at the AI.

“Now, Gabriel,” Butch scolded, “we may not have given him an invitation but O’Malley is still our guest in here.”

**“Yes, and you and I could make a marvellous team,”** O’Malley walked forward with a welcoming gesture. **“If you’d both just let me tap into all that stored hatred and anger...”**

“I just wanna’ be alone...” Gabriel retreated and tried to hide, despite the impossibility of that from the AI in their mind.

“And that’s not the way I’ve chosen to live,” Butch informed O’Malley, stepping forward to take the pressure off his more vulnerable, emotional self. “And I can’t see any reason why Rage shouldn’t be respectful of someone else’s life choices.” O’Malley gave him a withering, incredulous look. “So,” Butch clapped his hands, “what did you need little, old me to do for you anyway?”

**“What I’m going to do with you,”** O’Malley semantically corrected, **“is execute my most evil and diabolical plan using the one host that no one would ever expect!”**

Well, Butch had to hand it to him on that front. No one suspected the dead, after all; “Just like the Spanish inquisition, who all just happen to be _dead_ ,” Butch joked smartly, or so he thought.

**“Ugh. I wish I _was_ Gamma. At least he wouldn’t mind putting up with your piss-poor excuse for jokes...”**

~+~ ~#~ ~+~

Well, his family were safe. That was one bonus. Reginald planned to check in with them twice each day to make sure it stayed that way.

But now what to do? Lay low really. If Blood Gulch and the special little soldiers there were all technically part of Project Freelancer, they might well be being monitored now Freelancer knew he was in the vicinity. “So much for eliminating that Tucker...”

“I have an idea for the meantime,” Gamma spoke up.

“Oh yes?”

“We will need to teleport home and get Butch’s helmet, and to the Island Fortress for some of my brother’s supplies,” he first said.

~30 minutes later~

“All right. We’ve got your little electronic cornucopia,” Reginald said, shaking the box full of retrieved circuitry components; “now what?”

“I need access to one of the files in the computer,” Gamma lead him next, getting his human to walk him over there.

After he disappeared into the system, Reginald waited patiently.

Then he grew bored.

His gaze began to linger on the odd keyboard the terminal had. He had seen O’Malley using it on occasion but never had himself, what with Gamma being inside to do everything for him. If Gamma was inside and part of the system right now...

His fingers lingered, then grew too curious.

“REGGIe, stop pLAY _ING W_ Ith that,” Gamma said, or tried to say.

Reginald stopped innocently, forefinger still resting on the CAPS LOCK. He held the blank screen in a stalemate stare for a moment, smirking under his moustache all the while. Computing had never been his strong suit but all that time with Gamma had left him a little knowledge. Enough that his hands began to move again-

“Reggie.”

-so they could type ‘run erection.exe’ in. He grinned to himself, waiting as Gamma remained silent and still.

“...What were you trying to accomplish with that?” Gamma eventually asked.

“Just a bit of fun,” Reginald replied whimsically.

“Well, congratulations,” Gamma said; “now my drive is all hard.”

Reginald laughed a little too much. “Anyway, find what you’re looking for, mate?” he calmed down and then asked.

“Yes. My brother had deleted it so it took a while to recover, but I now have it.” Gamma’s words faded and something else filled the screen. Schematics. A circuit diagram.

“Oh, good Lord. You’re not at it building doomsday devices as well, are you?” He’d grown sick of those after tripping over one of O’Malley’s for the third time.

“No. This is something I designed that I would like you to install in Butch’s helmet.”

“For when we get him back?”

“Yes,” Gamma said after a microsecond pause.

Looked complicated. It looked like... “Is this an armour enhancement, like my temporal doodad?” Reginald asked, frowning at the screen. He had seen a similar layout before in his mind when Gamma had him upgrade his own helmet to stop the negative physical effects caused by dilating time, although looping was still a bit disorienting.

“You can control time. With this, Butch would be able to control space,” Gamma’s words appeared briefly to say with pride. “I thought it would be fitting. Although he would also require an AI to make it work.”

“You mean he’d be able to teleport?”

“Anywhere within a 200m radius instantly.”

“The little bugger was slippery enough as it was, let alone with this...” Reginald certainly didn’t doubt Gamma’s design though. He knew his AI was an absolute genius. “All right. You want me to do all the manual labour for it though, don’t you, mate?”

“I am the brains; you are the pathetic brawn, shisno,” Gamma agreed happily.

Smirking sourly, “I’ll go fetch the soldering iron then,” Reginald did as told.

~

He might not have been great at electronics but heck, Lopez had made an entire army despite being a head. Reginald could at least do this, with guidance.

It certainly passed time well, taking apart doomsday devices for components and fiddling around where he really shouldn’t be inside Project Freelancer’s equipment. They kept busy talking too, Gamma telling him all about the Alpha and Reginald telling him all about Frank.

“I am glad for my brother,” Gamma remarked at the end of the subject, “that he has found a host within whom he can develop fully.”

“What about Frank’s crush on me?”

“I can understand it,” Gamma said, and nothing more.

Reginald smirked to himself, concentrating more on installing the next transistor. So many sodding transistors... Gamma was helping, guiding him with thin filaments of light extended from his spherical form to indicate where the next piece needed to go and provide adequate lighting. It got Reginald thinking about how things would have been, if Gamma was still a little, blue man with fingers to point instead.

He knew he had to take a break soon from this though. “Bloody hell... I’m a soldier, not a solderer,” he groaned, sitting back in his seat.

Gamma laughed, turning sky blue for a moment.

Well, he had got Gamma laughing again. As good a time as any to ask, “...Gamma? Can I ask something, mate?”

“Yes?”

Reginald paused, but he had to finally know. “That night... Why did you eject yourself forcibly rather than leaving me in the normal way? You could have done it safely if you really had an issue being in me but...”

Gamma said nothing, nor changed to any colour.

“You can lie to me if you want,” Reginald added. “I’ll believe any answer you give.”

Gamma was silent again. But he couldn’t resist words like that. “...I wanted you to hate me. I needed to ensure you would not want to have me back because I knew I would not be able to say no. I never meant to hurt you, Reggie,” Gamma turned a regretful scarlet; “I only wanted you to hate me. I would have chosen a different method if I had known it would cause you lasting damage.”

Automatically, Reginald rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling that rawness again in his mind. The skin had healed long ago, with only minor scarring. His mind though...

“Did it work?” Gamma asked. “Did you hate me?”

Did he? Reginald had always assumed he did but, “No. I was angry, and confused. I was hurt, and I wanted to hurt you back... But I never hated you.” He sighed. “I’m a right pillock; I should have, but I just can’t hate someone I care about no matter what they do to me.”

Gamma glowed purple and moved a little closer. “Reggie, if you were an AI fragment like myself, I think you would be Dedication.”

“Probably,” Reginald agreed, “but not to this.” He pushed the soldering and Butch’s helmet away from him. “You’re lucky you don’t have a nose and lungs; I’m getting a headache from all the lead in the solder fumes.”

“I thought your moustache was a filter for all harmful toxins. It appears I need to reassess,” Gamma teased playfully.

“Oh, sod off.” Reginald tried to flick him away with a smile. “Time to head home, eh?”

Gamma came back with him these days. Gamma sat by his bedside all night watching over him, just like things used to be, except for one crucial difference.

Tonight though...

Reginald opened the drawer of his bedside table, removing Gamma’s data crystal chip. The AI was watching as he lifted it to the back of his neck to insert in once again.

It wasn’t without regret. It wasn’t without difficulty – The bloody thing wouldn’t line up right – and it wasn’t without worries. But Reginald put the chip back in, then they both looked at each other, unsure of what to say. In the end, just, “Goodnight, little chap.”

“Goodnight, Reggie.”

~

The next day it was back to work on the helmet and lying low. Butch’s armour enhancement was done by the afternoon.

Therefore, come the evening, they had the chance to relax. And Zanzibar had a beach.

Gamma’s thermal sensors informed him it was 22ºc with that value slowly decreasing, and thus within the 20-24ºc range Reginald’s body found pleasantly warm. His visual senses determined the light levels to be moderate with more of the light coming from the lower end of the visible spectrum at approximately 480 THz with a wavelength of 625nm.

i.e. There was a sunset.

And Reginald was basking in it, lying on the beach in only his black boxer briefs with his eyes closed.

Gamma wondered if he was thinking. The AI knew human minds were always active, filled with some thought or another, but was he thinking? Or fantasising? Or maybe he had entered that strange, meditative state where their brains thought without them. Gamma didn’t understand that, how human brains had an automatic stand-by setting when they were biological. Maybe he still didn’t truly understand humans though. Strange creatures... Why did his whole life have to revolve around them? Things would have been so much simpler without them.

Things would have been so much more boring without them.

Especially, “Reggie?”

“Mm?” One eye cracked open and looked at him.

“Are you enjoying lying in the sunlight?”

“Well, yes. Would have packed it in by now if I wasn’t. Why?” His AI always asked the strangest things. Weren’t they meant to be driven by logic and to the point about things?

“You are only enjoying it because human skin derives vitamin D from sunlight and therefore there is a biological reward mechanism in place to encourage that.”

Reginald stared at him, and raised one eyebrow. “Well, I appreciate the impromptu Biology lesson, old chap, but is there any reason in particular you’re trying to take all the fun out of it?”

“I am capable of detecting the sunlight in terms of a numerical value of temperature and light intensity and wavelength,” Gamma began to explained.

“Good for you,” Reggie had to interrupt.

“However, I am not able to **feel** it.” Gamma hesitated, then asked, “Would you let me feel it, Reggie?”

Oh. That would mean...

Well, he had put the chip back in last night for a reason. To turn Gamma away after sending that signal...

But to have Gamma back after so long, everything it would make him feel or might happen.

“No?” Gamma guessed, seeming slightly red, although that may have been the sunset.

“Not no, no,” Reginald said, then tutted his own phrasing. “No. Come on then. Hop in, mate.”

Despite his words, Gamma could comprehend Reginald’s facial expression easily. “I will not stay for long. You may experience some discomfort when I first enter your mind and have to relearn it once more. I will try to minimise that.”

That made Reginald feel so much better about this...

He closed his eyes, trying to relax in spite of his obvious anxieties. The old scars in his mind still screamed Gamma was going to hurt him again, pull the same trick, that all this had been nothing more than a very long build-up to betray him once again.

But then it was too late to stop anything.

His brain burnt at first. Not as savagely as O’Malley but all throughout his mind instead. Something tried to cool it, dampen the effects, but the crackle of living electricity shooting through all his synapses obliterated any chance at peace. All he could do was endure for now and just hope it ended soon.

The fire cooled, being a warm tingle in his system finally. It had taken seconds that felt like minutes and now Reginald felt his entire body loosen from the tension that had seized it.

It calmed, and now it felt like having the sun shining on the inside of him as well.

Reginald opened his eyes, able to hear that familiar, robotic voice again only in his head, not his ear.

_“Are you all right, Reggie?”_

_“Yes... Yes, just fine thanks to you.”_ He couldn’t stop grinning for some reason as he sat up, testing his body’s movement again. Was Gamma going to make any part of him move again?

No, he could simply sense the AI focussing on the sensation of the sunlight falling on his bare skin. It heightened the feeling for him as well very pleasantly as they sat feeling together.

_“I suppose you didn’t get much chance to feel sunlight on the ship or with me always suited up in my armour,”_ Reginald thought.

_“No. It is a pleasure I have not truly felt before now.”_

_“Glad I could share it with you then.”_

That was all Gamma wanted to do, feel the sunlight. He didn’t go looking through all the new memories of Reginald’s he had missed or investigate the part that held Reginald’s feeling for the AI himself.

He just wanted to stop thinking for the moment. He just wanted to feel and make jokes and experience the world changing each day with the ones he cared about.

He just wanted to be like a human.

Not a human. Only like one. But to get there would mean going...

_“I think you’re just fine as it is,”_ Reginald thought, acclimatising to hearing another set of thoughts again so easily; _“you’ve put up with so much from me and still keep caring, not to mention you’re a bloody genius. I know you still struggle with a lot of things and make bad choices but that’s no different from any other teenager; I forget just how young you are sometimes, little thing. Your jokes could still do with some work though,”_ he added finally.

_“I have struggled without a human mind to assist me.”_ Gamma actually felt mildly offended at the insinuation.

Reginald chuckled. _“If you say so. I still think you’re a wonderful person anyway, Gamma.”_

A very pleasant, happy feeling began to fill their mind from Gamma before the AI quickly locked it away behind encryption. How funny; the human found he was almost nostalgic for that computer code hiding things in the back of his mind.

And it no longer bothered him either. The disobedient scar in his mind still protested but the part that was Reginald simply trusted Gamma. He had a feeling he knew what it was anyway.

Gamma was poking at the scar meanwhile, metaphorically, for the first time seeing truly the damage he had done. No wonder Reggie had acted as he had with this here. And it was always going to be here. Thanks to him.

Gamma began to feel sad.

_“I don’t mind,”_ Reginald assured him. _“Doesn’t bother me that much anymore.”_ He lay back down on the sand.

Gamma manifested above him, just hovering there in the slowly dying light. He was soft and warm when Reginald’s hand reached out to hold him for the first time in so long. He could have stayed there for so much longer but, “I should leave you now, Reggie. I said five minutes.”

_“Okay.”_ Whatever Gamma wanted.

There was something else Gamma hesitated over though, one final thing. Unable to decide, he eventually just threw himself off Reginald’s hand to brush against his lips for a brief second. It was too quick for Reginald to decide if it felt like a ball of light or human lips before Gamma downloaded back out of his mind, leaving a cool, empty feeling once more.

Staring as the little ball of light appeared again, Reginald had to ask, “...Did you just-?”

“Return to enjoying your production of vitamin D, shisno,” Gamma commanded, settling down on Reginald’s chest just left of centre. He seemed unable to stop himself glowing sky blue.

“Righty-o.” Sky blue was happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember that Wyoming/Gamma tag that's been up there since chapter 2? Yeah, it's because I had this coming all along =3
> 
> Not long left of this fic now. I'm getting nervous about the following one although I'm already 4 chapters in. It's a bit... different.
> 
> Next time, Butch and O'Malley continue to acquaint, we catch up with Doc and where he's up to, and Wyoming and Gamma prepare for the final battle.


	15. Pieces into Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, everyone's parts have caught up and are on the same timeline now. Just making that clear in case.

He had been alive again for two days now. On the first day, a few hours after his revival, Butch had watched a soldier in lightish red armour fall down into the cave from the ceiling. Things must have changed, he supposed, while he had been dead and now there were new soldiers in Blood Gulch. He wondered how Project Freelancer was doing.

That same day the alien had fetched items for him; supplies from the stores O’Malley’s previous host had stashed in the caves and then, after that, a talking bomb. Butch didn’t care for the bomb at all but it was necessary to understand the alien.

The following day, today, he was a little stronger. A soldier in red armour had fallen in today – Was it common for soldiers to just rain down from the ceiling in this cave? Maybe military tactics had changed significantly in his absence – and then a while after that, orange and maroon soldiers as well. Seeing the three colours again, maybe they were the same soldiers he knew after all.

They snuck up on the latter two and yep, that was Grif and Simmons all right. _“What do we have planned for these two then?”_ Butch asked whilst his body stealthily moved into position with the alien.

**_“Quiet! I’m having enough trouble moving your pathetic body as it is,”_** O’Malley grumbled back, readying his needler.

_“Well, excuse me for having a bit of trouble being alive. I’m afraid I’m a little out of practice,”_ Butch half-joked, half-huffed as O’Malley fired the first shot at Simmons’ neck. _“Now what was that for?”_

**_“Shut up! Let me aim this- Ah-ha!”_** The alien did most of the work shooting but O’Malley got his few shots in, feeling particular pride at the one that went into Grif’s crotch.

_“Oh! It looks like you did pick up a few little traits from Tex after all!”_

**_“Enough! And stay quiet while I interrogate the orange one,”_** O’Malley snapped, pointing the alien to grab Grif and drag him away.

Butch hummed and sat in his mindscape to think then. He knew O’Malley’s plan by now. He may not have liked it but O’Malley knew where Reginald and Gamma were and if they were helping, Butch didn’t feel like refusing. The only part he wasn’t that keen on was O’Malley’s intentions for Tex, but his objections to that had been rather eclipsed by needing to verify that Tucker had given birth to a baby, an alien baby. That was... well, that was something.

He passed most of the day just trying to put his mind and memories back in order after... The memories of the afterlife were still vivid. He couldn’t understand it though. And neither could he understand that he had been **_DEAD._**

You didn’t come back from that. You didn’t get a second chance. And if you did, it wasn’t for the likes of someone like him.

By that evening, he had grasped the idea a little, enough to be worried about it happening again. After all, he still didn’t actually know what he had died of.

O’Malley had slunk off to the back of his mind, mainly using the computing space in his armour for computerish things while Butch was left to feed and maintain his body. The Reds weren’t around anymore, just him, the alien and the bomb.

There was probably a sitcom in that.

He was eating more of the stored rations DuFresne had left while the alien sat contemplating some sort of artefact and the bomb just... bombed around. It glowed, he supposed.

Feeling now was about time, Butch moved over towards the alien, sitting down cross-legged in front of him. They honked at him questioningly, moving to put their artefact away.

“What do you want?” the bomb translated for them, aware of its only purpose here.

“Do you eat?” Butch asked, holding his food out towards the sangheili. “I was wondering if you might like some of this.”

“Honk honk blarg.”

“It says it doesn’t eat that shisno crap,” Andy translated; “it likes meat and, you know, proper food. Not your rabbit, hippie stuff, ya fruit.”

Butch frowned over at the bomb. “Now, they didn’t say all that and certainly not so offensively.”

“Well if you’re so sure what it _did_ say, what d’ya need me for?” Andy huffed. It sure was moody for an explosive. “I might as well just lay here and get dirt in my wiring.”

Sighing, Butch turned back to the alien. “I may be wrong, but I do believe you said you’re carnivorous, yes?” That was the one word he hadn’t gotten. “Well, I’m the opposite so you might as well have this.” He handed over one of the meat MRE packets, barbeque pork or something. He wasn’t sure why DuFresne, as a fellow veggie, had had them but waste-not want-not!

“Blarg...” The alien was cautious at first, before they realised how to open it and then, “Blarg!” Well, it looked like they liked pork.

“Why didn’t you just let it eat you, zombie?” Andy called over. “Since you’re such a nice guy and all.”

Butch frowned again – He particularly hated that nickname the bomb had for him – and then told the alien, “Excuse me, though I do hate to be an awful dinner guest,” before getting up and going over to Andy.

“Hey. What ya doing, zombie?” Andy mirthfully asked as Butch approached.

“Oh, I’m just a little interested in the gradient of that slope over there,” Butch pointed over to where the ground slipped away, angling down a long incline into the rest of the caves. “Now, I do hate to impose, but I’d like you to go do a little investigation for me.” He gave Andy a nice, strong push with his foot in the direction of the hill, watching the bomb roll away from him with increasing speed.

“Screw you, ya fucking assho...” Finally the annoying voice faded away.

“Finally!” Butch returned to the sangheili. “Now, where were we?”

“Honk blarg.”

“Oh...” Butch hesitated, picking at his lentil burger with his finger and thumb. “It’s nothing really... I just can’t help being a little curious what it was I died of, exactly,” he finally asked, forcing a smile at the alien. Not that they probably appreciated his facial expressions.

“Blarg. Blarg honk.”

“You need some of my blood? All-righty then.” There was a knife packed in amongst the supplies and a cup he could drip some from his forearm into. “Will that be enough?” He handed the cup over. “Careful now.”

The sangheili sniffed his blood, then stuck a finger in and swirled before sucking the finger in their mouth. There was a thoughtful pause, then they raised the cup and drunk a little more.

Butch awaited the results whilst nibbling at his burger, glad that his stomach would hold food down now mostly. He was frankly a lot healthier than he had been before he died so he trusted this sangheili to really know their stuff when it came to human medicine.

“Blarg... Blarg honk honk, honkity blarg.”

“My blood tastes fiery and hollow?” Butch checked. “Well, that’s certainly a pretty picture you paint but what does that mean I died of then? Poison?” That was currently his own assumption, that Project Freelancer had poisoned him before sending him out here.

“Blarg. ...Honk.” The sangheili peered more closely at him. “Bla-blarg honk.”

Poison or... “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that second one.”

“Bla-blarg honk.”

Butch frowned. Then eventually sighed.

He got to his feet and went to find the bomb, not before lingering long enough to watch the sangheili pour his leftover blood onto their barbeque pork like a sauce. Butch stared at that for a moment, before smiling at the wonderful cultural diversity they had.

“Oh. You’re back,” Andy said as Butch came back into view down the hill. “What do you want now, zombie? Gonna’ play golf with me? Stick me in a hole somewhere?”

“There’s just one teensy phrase that’s got me flummoxed,” Butch admitted, crouching down beside the bomb. “If you wouldn’t mind using your clever, little translator on it-”

“Crawling back, huh?” Andy preened. “Well, well, well. Maybe I don’t feel like translating for you. Maybe I feel like exploding!”

“-or else I’ll snip out your detonator with these,” Butch continued, taking a pair of wire clippers and a screwdriver from his armour storage. He grinned. “Project Freelancer really did have an excellent educational facility and I sure did enjoy my lessons on explosives!”

“H-Hey! Whoa!” Andy would have backed away if it could. “L-Let’s not go crazy! You wouldn’t do that to a guy, right? I need that! Life’s no fun without my detonator!”

“No, I certainly wouldn’t do that to a helpful, friendly, old translator, no sirree!” Butch agreed.

The bomb pulsed warily for a moment. “...Fine.” Butch picked it up and carried it back. “...You’re really creepy, you know that? And I don’t think it’s just your insane AI.”

**“What was that?”** O’Malley woke up instantly at the mention.

“Oh, don’t mind us! You keep scheming away in there, O’Malley, and I’m certain you’ll be future ruler of the universe yet,” Butch chuckled.

**_“...I can hear your true thoughts, Barbie,”_** O’Malley reminded him before slinking away.

Ah, that was right. Nonetheless, so far Butch wasn’t finding his first experience with an AI unpleasant, as things could go. He could sense O’Malley had brought his dark side closer to the surface though, intentionally or otherwise. Butch wasn’t so pleased about that after he had spent so long getting himself under control, but then again perhaps it had been the dying that shook him all up. He just didn’t know.

They got back to the alien and they repeated the phrase.

The bomb sat for a moment erring before saying, “It’s kind of like ‘shisno’; doesn’t have a direct translation.”

“Well, how about in a few more words then?”

“It’s something like... ‘Civil War Disorder,’ maybe? I don’t know.” It would have shrugged if it had shoulders. It could see Butch’s displeased frown though. “I’m a bomb, not a freakin’ doctor! I take people apart, not keep them together!”

Twenty seconds later Andy was rolling back down the hill swearing all the way.

“Now, if you don’t mind me asking a little more,” Butch continued more cheerfully to the sangheili, “is there any chance of me dying again anytime soon?”

“Hh... Honk,” the alien decided.

“Ah, that’s good.” He would want the opinion of a human doctor at some point but for now that would do. “Well, how was that then?” He indicated the empty packet of food the alien had finished.

“Blarg blarg.”

“Is my blood really that good?”

“Blarg honk. Honk blarg honk.”

“Well, I am type O negative; that’s rather rare amongst humans.” Butch finished his own food and dabbed at his face with a napkin. “Would you mind talking with me a little longer? I really am loving learning your language.”

“Honk. Blarg blarg honk.”

Butch chuckled and blushed lightly at the compliment. “Oh, they’re just be silly-billies if they can’t learn it. After all, it’s just ‘blarg’ and ‘honk’ – That’s as simple as Morse code!”

“Honk? Honk honk blarg.”

“Morris code?” Butch repeated questioningly.

“Blarg honk,” the alien pointed towards where the Reds had been hanging around earlier.

“Oh, don’t believe them!” Butch flopped a hand dismissively. “Look at what colour they’re wearing after all! The lightish red one has some sense but blue’s much better.” He patted his armour proudly.

“Honk!”

“All right, green is better still. I don’t want to disagree.”

“Blarg,” the green sangheili nodded firmly.

“Although,” Butch said, sitting back and thinking about the AI still conniving away at the back of his mind, “there’s something to be said for purple too...”

~#~

It was the second night since O’Malley had left.

Doc- No, _Frank_. Gosh darn it, he was even starting to refer to himself by that incorrect nickname.

Frank was staying at Blue Base, in the spare bedroom. He was meant to be sharing with Sister but she had gone to Caboose’s room for a sleepover so they could do their hair and frost cupcakes or something. Frank didn’t know; Caboose had been talking about ‘Captain Cupcakes’ and sleepovers and he just didn’t understand it.

Tex had kicked Church out of his room, despite not needing to sleep apparently, and now Church was sharing with Tucker and his new kid. Yes, all three of them preferred sharing one noisy, cramped room to any of them sharing with him.

There was too much room in this room...

Just like there was too much room in his head without O’Malley...

Frank forced himself into his mindscape as he lay there unable to sleep. It was hard to visit your mindscape without an AI to make the sensations vivid and tangible but he refused to let go of _their_ place and all the time they had spent there together. All his meditation had been good for travelling into his mind at least.

Wandering the corridor, Frank looked into each of the four rooms dejectedly, lingering at the open doorway of each just in case something happened, someone came.

He was all alone in here. This wasn’t a proper world with just him alone; it was a story without characters, a game without players. It was just a memory now, a cached, archived moment. No life.

How could he feel like a ghost in his own mind?

He spent his time cataloguing the marks of disarray O’Malley had left when he exited a bit too quickly. Not quickly enough to do the serious damage Caboose and Reginald had suffered – And what did that say? – but enough for things to not flow the way they had before in his mind.

Some of the drawers were upside-down in the high school nurse’s office. Frank let his fingers touch them and felt angry.

He touched the scattered, slightly ripped cushions in his childhood apartment – particularly the one that O’Malley’s departure had somehow jammed in the window – and felt hatred.

He touched the fraying rope on the swing O’Malley had always sat on in the playground and felt Rage.

Frank wiped at the tears coming from his eyes, then stopped as he realised he was wiping at real tears in the low light of Blue Base.

_“No...!”_ He’d slipped out of the mindscape. He had to get back in.

It got harder every time he forced himself in like that.

Frank sat himself in the final room, the one based on the Island Fortress. What with O’Malley, Reggie, even Gamma and Lopez...

That place was home now. Or as close as he had left. His place back on Earth was... Well, it probably wasn’t still his now. Frank didn’t care; he’d brought everything important with him.

But he’d lost every _one_ important at the moment.

Maybe O’Malley would move out with his plan soon, and whomever his new host was. Frank could hear himself thinking in a jealous tone about that and it was ridiculous. But he did want to be out of here, back with his new little family, group, association of evil- Whatever it was.

Would there be any reason for them to remain together after this though?

If Reginald finished his job and wasn’t hired for anything else...

If Lopez stayed here with the Reds where he had originated...

If O’Malley...

“O’Malley...”

Nothing mattered more than that. Would O’Malley come back to him? Had everything meant nothing, just convenience and fun to the AI?

Frank rolled around fitfully without sleep, hoping the ‘morning’ would bring anyone back to him.

~#~

Butch had gotten what sleep he could when his helmet clock told him it was ‘night’. That was one thing the caves really were suited for. O’Malley wanted him well-rested for tomorrow in the hopes it could finally be the day. Butch hadn’t been able to sleep much. Instead, he had spent his night lying there on the cool ground staring up at the high ceiling wondering if any of the stalactites were directly above him and likely to fall on him, trying to put his fractured, distressed mind back together, and finally wondering if he could catch one of the bats that he was sure he could hear dripping in the caves. The only question was, should he name it Bram-ston Pickle, or Bram-Stoker Pickle? He couldn’t decide how obvious the pun was.

But come morning, O’Malley declared his body finally fit enough to be put into action.

They reloaded and cleaned every weapon they had, recharged their armour and then O’Malley sent his messages.

First one to Gamma. Just a text message. O’Malley wouldn’t allow Butch to add anything about him being alive or his involvement or else Reginald and Gamma wouldn’t behave and do their part, and O’Malley himself wouldn’t be able to do anything because Butch’s body would probably be too busy having sex. **_“Not that I wouldn’t mind that at some point. He’s rather well-endowed, isn’t he, your beau?”_**

Butch did rather enjoy O’Malley being his mind buddy, but at the same time only because this was a temporary arrangement. The thought of him sticking around always, even during...

He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

He went along with all this though since he was promised Reginald and Gamma back once it was done.

Following the message to Gamma, O’Malley sent a message to Vic at Blue-

_“Oh gosh. Him?”_ Butch protested, a little voice in his head adding much more colourful objections.

**_“What’s wrong with Vic?”_ **

Butch sighed, managing to convey all his frustrations instantly within the same mind.

**_“Hm. Agreed on most, but he’s still our ally in this.”_ **

Butch put up and shut up for now.

O’Malley sent a message to Vic to contact Church and get him to lead the Blue Team into battle, sending some through the caves. First they’d pick off those alone then move in whilst the Blues were engaged with the Reds and destroy them all in the confusion. It was perfect!

Butch admitted there was some sense and soundness in the plan.

**_“Oh stop your foolish sulking! You’re getting your beloved Reginald back after this.”_ **

_“But Tex...”_ He wanted to see her once again, to say... _“Do you really feel nothing for her, Omega?”_

O’Malley stewed in sour grapes. **_“...She deserves this.”_**

The AIs were so young. Violent, vengeful teenagers. Butch had been there. He had learnt. But only through doing, through living that path for too long.

If this was what O’Malley, what Gamma, needed to do to grow and develop...

Well, Butch Flowers didn’t mind doing whatever was necessary for the well-being of his team.

~#~

“Three 5s.” Reginald tossed his cards on the pile.

“Two 6s.” Gamma dropped his onto it as well. His cards were digital, just holograms like him, but they looked real enough.

“9. Lower,” Reginald said, playing his next.

“One 7.”

Reginald frowned, and reached for the discard pile to sift quickly through. “We already burnt all the 7s.” He held up the primary evidence to the accused.

“No. We did not.” Gamma insisted shiftily. “Look again. You are incorrect, Reggie.”

Reginald looked again at what had now become three 7s and a 5. “I see. Thought you could start cheating me now we’re not sharing a head, eh?” He slapped the burnt cards back down.

Gamma toyed with his hand, making the digital cards in front of him dance slightly as he said nothing. Playing cards with him had been more adorable while he was still human-shaped and his proper-sized, digital cards had been nearly his height. It had also been easier when you could sense a lie.

Now though, Reginald sighed and threw his hand down in defeat.

“I am sorry, Reggie,” Gamma’s cards disappeared as well. “It is simply my nature to cheat.”

“Hmm.” Reginald just stared off into the middle-distance, trying to ignore that and the thoughts acting up in his brain.

“We could play Snap,” Gamma suggested next.

Reginald snorted lightly. “You don’t even have hands.”

“Therefore I could not cheat,” he pointed out.

“Yes, though I’m sure you’d find a-” Reginald was cut off by the computer pinging, or beeping. Whatever that annoying, incoming message tone was. “If it’s another bloody sangheili telemarketer, tell them we’ve got enough blood, ancient prophecies and plasma-powered frying pans.”

“It is not.” Gamma had drifted over into the computer to see. “It is a message from my brother,” he said, his words now appearing on screen before displaying the message.

> “The final stage of the plan begins this day! Bring yourselves to me and prepare for our glorious victory!”

“Good Lord, he even types like that...” Reginald muttered.

“Actually, his diaries are not as grandiose. Although, yes, they contain a higher than average number of adject-”

BLL-LL-LL-LL-LL-LL!

This time it was Gamma being cut off by the phone for an actual call this time.

“Remember what I said about the telemarketers,” Reginald said before stepping back to let Gamma handle this.

“Hello,” Gamma answered.

“ _Hello. This is Church, Gary_.” The Alpha. “ _Or should I call you Gamma?_ ” Had it remembered? This could be bad. “ _Have you been lying to us?_ ”

“Lying is such a shisno concept.” He glanced at Reginald in the room. “I mean human concept.”

“ _You’re a computer. I thought computers can’t lie_.”

“They can if they were programmed to lie,” Gamma taunted.

“ _Were you programmed to lie?_ ”

“...No.”

“ _God damn it_...”

“I have to go, Church,” Gamma said, hanging up before the Alpha could ask whatever about the aliens. “Goodbye.”

“Hm, do they know?” Reginald asked, just as concerned the Alpha might have regained its memories or knowledge of Project Freelancer.

“It is nothing to worry about.” If it didn’t remember he was Deceit, then it couldn’t know. “We are close to the end. We will not be stopped now,” Gamma insisted almost as if he needed to reassure himself.

“We should get going,” Reginald decided. “Hop in.”

“All right. Just let me set the coordinates.”

That meant more tinkering time inside the computer Reginald had to stand and wait through. Might as well ask while Gamma could multi-task. “So... Gary,” he began smugly.

“Do not use that name,” Gamma said. “It is just a shisno name I created to fool the Alpha.”

“Really? Think it rather suits you, old chap.” Reginald smirked, reloading his sniper rifle ready to move out.

“Knock knock.”

Here we go again. “Who’s there?”

“Fuck.”

Reginald played along despite the crudeness. There was an amusing thrill to hearing Gamma swear. “Fuck whom?”

“Fuck you.”

“My, my. Gareth Bertram Wodehouse, where did you learn that language?” Reginald teased. “And yes, I’m certain you’d love to fuck me. Shall we get going now?” he covered quickly, uncertain if breaching the subject of sex between them was still off-limits.

“I learnt it from your mind, Reginald Petroc Wodehouse.” He got to relish Reginald’s very sour face in return over using his most secret middle name, if Reginald was going to give him his own stupid, posh full name. A name that made him part of Reginald’s family... “And yes, let’s go.”

Gamma manifested just long enough to show he was indigo right now while he was activating the teleporter and settling into Reginald’s armour.

Indigo was mischevious, and maybe flirtatious.

It was also Butch’s colour, and Reginald’s mind ran down old, very well-worn pathways wondering if they’d ever find Butch again.

Oh well. No time for wondering that now.

It was time to head to Blood Gulch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The card game Reginald and Gamma is playing is one I know as 'Monsoon' but I can't find it anywhere else on the internet. Anyone else know it?  
> Also, isn't Petroc a cool name? Just seemed like the silly, aristocratic middle name Reggie would have.
> 
> Next time is the final chapter folks. And I'm afraid you know what happens at the end of season 5.


	16. The Battle of Blood Gulch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.  
> Blame Rooster Teeth.

Blood Gulch. This was where Frank and O’Malley had come, correct? Good-o. Perhaps he might see them again when all this was done, or along the way. He’d missed Frank, and even his abrasive lover of an AI, over the past three days. After all this was done, maybe he’d stick around a bit longer while he continued looking for Butch.

They teleported into the centre of Blood Gulch, notably deserted at the moment. After making his way to the cliffs briefly to establish the situation with his sniper rifle, “That?” Reginald asked quietly to Gamma observing with him.

“Yes. And then I will reverse the polarity over there for you.”

“Right. Moving out.” Swiftly on his feet, Reginald crossed the empty canyon with what stealth skills Butch had passed along to him, approaching the stationary tank at Blue Base from behind. He snuck up close, letting Gamma do his AI-thing and wrestle the-

“There is no AI within this tank, Reggie,” Gamma said, suddenly inside the vehicle now.

“Really? About damn time we had a bit of luck...” he grumbled, using his sniper scope to check briefly before nodding. “Clear. Move out.” They moved off, Reginald jogging alongside the slowly rolling tank.

This was silly, Gamma decided with a pleased spin of his fan rotors. Here he was as a tank with some very fun features and his human was running alongside him? “Reggie,” Gamma said, swinging around to nudge Reginald affectionately with his turret. “Come on. Ride me, Reggie.”

He heard a light tutting. “Want me inside of you, eh?” Reginald joked back. “All right, open up then.” He hopped onto one tread. Gamma lifted the driver cage and let the human slip in before safely covering him again. “My, you are a big boy now, aren’t you?”

Gamma lowered his turret a little, monitoring his human caringly. “It is only temporary. Although, I do enjoy having the ability to protect you for once, after I have gotten you injured so many times.”

Reginald said nothing to that, simply sitting back and enjoying the ride while trailing one hand over the dashboard and Gamma’s buttons. Now which one...?

“Hey! Do not touch that button!” Gamma’s turret shook side-to-side awkwardly, seeming flustered. “Do you want me to shoot my whole load off already?” Oh come on. Now, Gamma really was pushing it with the innuendoes.

Reginald just chuckled, sitting back and holding the controls more firmly. He thought he heard a new, soft hum around him when he held Gamma like that, but maybe he was imagining.

They rolled onto until they reached the exit of the Red teleporter. Gamma had more AI-things to do, then Reginald could jump through ready to finally collect his bounty.

~#~

The Reds had moved from the computer screens to the blue corpses. Not as easy as if they had gone to fight the Blues like they were supposed to but evil could be flexible.

_“I do practise a little yoga now and then,”_ Butch mused as he watched from backseat of his own body.

O’Malley sighed. **_“Great. If it wasn’t for your superior fighting skills and years of suppressed hatred, I might as well have not even moved hosts...”_**

They were heading up to the surface with the green alien, ready to launch a surprise attack on the Blues and-

“So that’s how you got here, Lopez?”

**_“DuFresne?”_** O’Malley perked up in their mind at the voice.

“What a strange, yet totally believable story!”

Butch hurried a little faster, interested to meet this other host. It sounded like they might be very good friends after all. He just couldn’t figure out whether it was the yellow or-

(“Who’s that guy?”) Lopez asked, causing the yellow one to turn.

“Hi there,” Butch said, prompted by O’Malley to say something, “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Captain Butch Flowers, and this,” The green alien, “is my friend.”

“Hi! Nice to meet you!” Well, DuFresne wasn’t the yellow one. That sounded like a girl, although he shouldn’t assume genders certainly. “Hey, wait. Wasn’t I sent here to replace you?”

And stepping out from behind a pillar as they caught up, “Honnnk?”

Oh no, was that-?

Ohh! Tucker’s kid was just too adorable!

“Hey there, li **ttle guy**.” Uh-oh. O’Malley was taking back over. “I’ve been waiting a very, **very long** time **to meet you. Muhohohahaha...”** Butch wondered how O’Malley even got his voice to laugh like that.

~#~

“-do you think, Tex?”

“I think we may have walked right into a-”

“A trap?” God, Gamma really did have perfect timing.

“Wyoming.” Tex didn’t sound pleased, but she didn’t sound like ‘going to kill you mode’ either.

“Okay, see? Now, if I was O’Malley, I would’ve known that was gonna’ happen,” the Alpha said, for whatever reason. Or at least, it was the Alpha’s voice. Bit strange coming from a full-sized person.

A few moments later, he had gotten them where he wanted, all turned to face him in a nice, little shooting line.

“Wyoming.” If anything, Tex just sounded tired.

“Ah yes, hello Tex. So sorry to sneak up on you when you were busy quarrelling about, well, whatever it is exactly you people do here.” He looked around the canyon, full of nothing but dirt and rocks. “I’m guessing some kind of ditch digging or something.”

“Blue Team doesn’t even have shovels,” Tucker added. “Which kinda’ sucks because our guys are the ones who keep dying.”

“And it looks like that trend is going to continue.” They were even setting him up with good jokes; this day was going nothing but swimmingly.

“Oh what? You’re here for Tex?” the Alpha asked. “Because if you are, she’s right there. All yours, buddy. Go for it.”

“Yeah. Ladies first!” Tucker agreed.

Sadly, not today. Really, he didn’t fancy killing Tex at all, and not just because of how difficult it would be. “Not at all. I’m here for your little friend,” He really didn’t believe what he’d heard about Tucker having a child. “He’s very important to a lot of people.”

The Alpha coughed, then began saying, “So, Wyoming, you just showed up here and decided to attack us.”

“Yes?”

“And now you’ve caught us at gunpoint, and it looks like we’re in big trouble.”

Reginald frowned slightly inside his helmet. “Now, I know you fellows are all fools, but is there really any need for this Janet and John bit?”

“Here at the Red Base. Wyoming,” the Alpha continued. “You found us and are holding us prisoner. At the Red Base. Wyoming.”

“Have you blown a fuse or something, mate?” Reginald asked.

“Fuse?” Tucker asked. “How did you know he’s a ro-?”

“If only someone nearby,” the Alpha continued again, “someone with access to a tank,” Wait a minute... “somehow knew what was going on and could help us.” Reginald almost laughed. “Someone, for instance, in blue armour.” The Alpha was trying to call in his team mate with the tank. Good luck with that. “Who somehow knew about the situation, and figured out what the fuck other people were talking about,” He wasn’t even getting the message across to his back-up! This was hilarious! “and tried to fucking help us, and then we would be saved!” He didn’t remember the Director swearing that much, or being so useless.

“Why do you keep explaining things to me?” Reginald asked, playing along with his own radio having been on the entire time. “I understand the situation perfectly; I ambushed you. You’re quivering in fear.”

“Yeah, what are you, the narrator now or something?” Tucker asked as well. Surrounded by idiots...

“I just want everyone to be on the same page about Wyoming, ambushing us, at the Red Base.” Dear Lord, was he still trying? Give it up, man!

The Alpha kept going though, even as its friends began complaining at it. This was getting ridiculous.

“I think your friend here has lost his marbles,” Reginald interrupted diplomatically, trying to stop this farce.

“Oh, you wanna’ see crazy?” Tucker turned on him, “wait until you try to take my fucking kid.” The blue moron was actually attached to the parasite that had ripped its way out of his belly? “What do you want with him anyway? He never did anything to you.”

“It’s not what he did, it’s what he’s going to do.” Or so he’d been told by O’Malley a while ago when this bizarre scheme had been explained to him. “That child is very special.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess I should have read to him more, or something,” Tucker supposed wistfully.

“Not that kind of special, you half-wit.” Although, if the parasite had taken any genetic material from its host, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was that kind of ‘special’ as well. “I mean he’s important.”

“Red Base. No one is in the state of Wyoming.” Oh good Lord, was the Alpha _still_ going?

“That little alien of yours has a very important destiny to fulfil,” Reginald continued, ignoring the AI. He always liked someone to know what they were dying for, for a sense of completion. “And we’re going to make sure he does it.”

“Well, he’s not here,” Tucker said, “so guess what. You’re shit outta’ luck.”

How cute. They thought he was as useless as they themselves. “I’m well aware. My partner’s taking care of that little acquisition right now. I’m just here to tidy up a bit.”

“How’d you sneak up on us anyway?” Tucker asked, turning to the other Freelancer present. “Tex, I thought you were supposed to be good at this stealth stuff.”

“I am,” she preened, switching on her active camouflage.

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Tucker congratulated sarcastically. “Good for you.”

Reginald played along, rather enjoying this little foreplay before the killing. Bounty hunting became so boring without playing with your prey first. “Oh no(!) Tex has gone invisible(!) Whatever shall I do,” he said flatly. “Fretting, worry.”

“Dude, I wouldn’t sound so smug,” the Alpha said, finally off its radio. “She kicked your ass last time and you weren’t outnumbered like you are now.” Actually, he’d beaten Tex at least once, and she’d had York the last time. “Haha, yeah!” The Alpha laughed in triumph, turning and pointing. “Hey, it worked!” He was pointing at the tank that had just arrived, his beloved cavalry. “I can’t believe Caboose came through! How d’ya like that, Wyoming? We even have our tank now! Boo ya, motherfucker!”

Reginald laughed. “Your tank?” He just couldn’t help his laughter as the Alpha froze in dread at the sound of a simple,

“Knock knock, Church.”

“Oh shit.”

~#~

The darkness and lack of awareness receded.

“Oh! I think he’s back!”

He had been unconscious again?

Boy, he sure wasn’t doing well at being both alive and conscious lately! Ah, but at least he was alive then.

“Captain Flowers? Can you hear me?” a gentler, concerned voice asked.

“Yo! Blue dude! You okay?!” a much less gentle voice yelled.

Butch winced, pushing himself up with a bit of a groan. “Yes... Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern my good, new friends.” He sat and turned, taking in the purple and yellow soldiers from before. “DuFresne and...”

“I’m Kai!” she chirpily replied. “But everyone around here just calls me ‘Grif’s sister’. Except Dex, who calls me ‘you dumb slut’ or ‘the embarrassment to the family’.”

Grif’s sister? My! “And you’re DuFresne, I believe,” he looked to the purple one. “O’Malley couldn’t stop talking about you, you know. I’d say he likes you.”

But DuFresne just lowered his head, mumbling a sad, “yeah...” before asking, “He’s gone from you now, right?”

“Yes, just me in here again!” Butch tapped the side of his helmet. DuFresne seemed even more despondent then. Ah. Maybe something to take the poor soldier’s mind off it. “Now, I believe you’re a medic, according to what O’Malley would say.”

DuFresne raised his head more enthusiastically. “He called me a-? Um, yes! I’m a medic!”

“It took him, like, seven minutes to get you conscious again though,” Kai added.

After giving her what was probably a frown inside his helmet, the medic asked, “Are you okay? Do you still feel ill?”

“Oh, no, no. Just... Well...” A human doctor... Butch steeled himself for this, what needed to be done despite his fears. “It just so happens I’ve been dead for the past two years.” **_Dead_**. He said it just like any other word, like he’d just been ill or away. “And despite the wonderful treatment that sangheili gave me, I can’t help... I don’t suppose I could ask you to give me a quick medical examination, could I?”

“Oh, sure!” DuFresne began to fiddle with his green scanner-ma-bob, sweeping it slowly over Butch’s body.

“Wow!” Kai picked up in the meantime. “What’s it like being dead? Did you go to heaven? Or hell? People always say I’m going to go to hell- Or wait, they _tell_ me to go to hell. One of those two! I can’t decide which one to go to though so if you, like, brought back any brochures or anything, that would be wicked cool!”

“Er, no. No brochures I’m afraid,” Butch politely said, focussing on what DuFresne was doing instead.

“Aw! Well, I guess if you took photos or something- Do they have Immedigram in the afterlife?”

“No, no they-”

“Chirper?”

“No, I’m-”

“Oh my God?! How did you keep in touch?!” Kai practically recoiled. “I couldn’t imagine if I only had Basebook!”

“If you, erm...” Butch tried to excuse himself from that conversation but realised she probably wouldn’t notice anyway. “Well?” he asked DuFresne.

“Nothing weird coming up here...” the medic assessed. “You come up a very nice shade of green, by the way.”

“Thank you. I-”“Are you-?” DuFresne tried to start too before apologising.

“No, please,” Butch insisted.

“No, no! You were speaking first!”

“Oh God, someone speak first!” Kai sighed histrionically. “Seriously! Why are all the guys round here total dorks?”

“I was, uh, a little concerned about something I haven’t been able to check for myself properly, you see,” Butch began, drumming his fingers slightly. Enough to notice a rare, nervous tic of the sort he practically never had. “If I really have been dead for two years,” he said, and somehow that was easier to say, “then I’m a little afraid I might have experienced some skin decay in that time-”

“Gross!”

“I couldn’t find any on the parts of myself I could check, but without a mirror...” Butch reached up for his helmet.

“Oh, sure,” DuFresne agreed. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen plenty of skin decay in my time!”

That was... reassuring. Or Butch tried to feel so, to know it’d be recognised if he really did...

He nervously fumbled the catches on his helmet loose, prising it off his head and feeling his braid uncurl as he turned to show his face to DuFresne. His hair hadn’t grown whilst he was dead at least, even if he had been bundled into this new suit of armour a little haphazardly and it had gone unwashed for quite a while.

DuFresne stared at him for a sickeningly long moment but Kai hadn’t exclaimed in any kind of disgust. Instead just glee when she said and asked, “Oh WOW! You’re super hot! Like, are you in a boyband or something? You seriously look like you’re in a boyband or something. Some kind of celebrity at least.”

“Uh, no, I’m not...” He was waiting on DuFresne’s verdict more though.

And finally, “...Oh my God- Uh, no! Oh my secular, er- Whatever!” DuFresne just threw himself at Butch in a hug, practically barrelling them over. “When I heard your name I thought it couldn’t-! I’d forgotten your name by the time I met him but-! It really is you! Butch Flowers!”

“Well, this is certainly one of the most enthusiastic responses to my face I’ve ever been given,” Butch chuckled a little awkwardly, waiting for the other man to pull back from squeezing him back to death. “Did I become a hero after I died or something?” Maybe Kai _was_ right.

“No! No...!” DuFresne pulled back, sounding like he was practically crying- No, he _was_ crying of happiness. He took his own helmet off to wipe away the tears. Well, didn’t the two of them look like palette-swapped cousins almost? “Re-Reggie...” That was all DuFresne managed to get out.

That was all he needed to get out. “Reggie?!” Butch grabbed his shoulders, remembering now what he couldn’t believe he had forgotten. “You know Reginald?! Is he here?!”

“Who’s ‘Reggie’?” Kai asked, ignored.

DuFresne nodded, then shook his head a bit. “He’s in the canyon s-somewhere,” He blew away the last of his tears on a handkerchief. “I don’t know though where- It looks pretty crazy out there. But Reggie’s really tough; I know he’ll have survived.”

“That certainly sounds like my Reggie,” Butch agreed, unable to stop beaming. He was here! He was finally going to be back with Reginald after all this!

“Guys! Who’s ‘Reggie’?!”

DuFresne’s face took on a wistful gladness. “I’m so glad he’ll be- He’s been so sad without you. He still misses you _so_ much.”

Reginald had been sad-?

Reginald hadn’t even known he had been-

“Did he know I was dead?” Butch hurriedly asked.

“I don’t think so. He and Gamma were still looking for you as recently as a few days ago.”

Gamma too. All three of them again...

He had to-

No, getting up quickly wasn’t an option right now. Butch found himself face-down on the floor again.

“Butch!”

“Captain Hot-Guy!”

“Oh my...” Butch pushed himself back up to sitting again, trying to keep utterly still so the world would balance out around him. “I’m afraid I’m still a little...”

“Would you like something to eat?” DuFresne offered, pulling a small Tupperware box out of his storage.

“Ooh! Snacks!” Kai got down to sit with them too. “Can I have some?”

“Sure! I haven’t got many but if you like alfalfa and falafel...!” he offered encouragingly.

Yeah, no. Kai declined and went off to find some of the other snacks left in his supply store down here, and maybe who ‘Reggie’ was since they wouldn’t even acknowledge her questions.

“Well, more for you then, Butch!” DuFresne cheerfully held out the box. “I heard you introduced Reggie to falafel!” he chatted on. “Well, I introduced him to alfalfa!”

They both agreed on the delightful linguistics of that as Butch dug into the pita breads.

“So, now how do you know Reggie? You must know him pretty well to get him eating something new- Mm! Oh gosh, I’m afraid I _must_ I have the recipe for these too!”

“Oh, we lived together for the past year,” Frank, as he had now introduced himself, carried on. Butch raised an eyebrow. “I mean-! No, like, we weren’t...” He pushed his fingertips together. “I mean, I do have a crush on him; he’s such a nice guy. And he said he likes me too, and I did try to sleep with him one time- B-But I didn’t! We didn’t!” he quickly established, having heard the tales, or rather threats. “Reggie refused me, because of you! He’s still true to you! Although, I think Gamma maybe... or something... I don’t really know that part.” Frank sighed a little. “AIs are confusing...”

Reginald... had found someone else...

But he had turned them down...

Because he had been waiting two whole years...

For a dead man...

“...Butch?”

Butch raised his head, swiftly pushing a smile to the front of his face. “Well, I certainly must thank you for being such a good friend to Reginald while I’ve not been able to. He’s certainly very lucky to have had you, if our little meeting here is anything to go by.”

Frank really looked delighted, too delighted for words. He just nodded and enthusiastically agreed.

“But, as grateful as I am for the help and this _delicious_ food,” Butch said, closing the box and handing it back as he stood more steadily this time, “I have to go and find my Reggie.”

~#~

Well, this wasn’t going perfectly, but that was what they had left a time-cloned copy of Reginald’s helmet inside Gamma’s body for, so the AI could activate the temporal looping just in case of little slip-ups.

Taking out Tex each time was easy, poor girl- Or whatever she was. What did Butch say she was again? Agender?

He was getting off the point.

And Tucker seemed to be strangely disoriented, almost as if, “Wait a minute, what’s going on?”

“I think he knows,” Gamma said from behind him. He was able to sense why – The digital tagging on Tucker’s armour was still set to ‘Butch Flowers’ and Gamma didn’t have the ability to change the immunity that tag had to the effects of the temporal distortion unit right now. He would just have to hope the pathetic sim moron stayed too confused to do anything before they got this right.

He wasn’t able to say why to Reggie though. That Butch had been here, died here...

Reginald couldn’t know. Not until the day he was willing to let Reggie go...

“I think you’re right,” Reginald agreed before being interrupted by-

“Church! I’m coming to help! Don’t start without me!”

“It’s the idiot,” Caboodle was it? Reginald really didn’t see the point in remembering; “take care of him. Quickly.”

“Right.” Gamma moved easily in his new body, firing the tank’s machinegun with a sniper’s accuracy he had picked up from Reginald.

The plain blue soldier crumpled to the ground dead.

“Caboose! Noooo!”

Gamma swung the main turret back round at the remaining Blues, firing a near shot. Damn, this thing wasn’t so precise. Well, it was more the lack of speed between pressing fire and firing. Gamma sighed. “This is what you get for using the lowest bidder...” he turned his volume down low to mutter only to himself, turning on the machinegun again instead.

Reginald watched, not even needing to get involved when he had a tank to do the work for him. They should have gotten a tank for Gamma ages ago. Much easier! Still, he did like to execute the final shot himse-

“AhH!”

The deuced luck of that Alpha! Well, at least Gamma knew to-

Ah, back to safety again.

Reginald tried to clear his head as he played out the same lines with the Alpha again. Too many loops too close together and he was getting the disorientation of all the memories piling on top of each other. It was becoming hard to tell what was real and what had already been overwritten.

“Church, don’t you remember any of this?” Tucker asked, interrupting their usual scripted dialogue.

“Tucker, what the fuck are you talking about?”

But that- Oh dear.

“He knows,” Gamma confirmed from behind him.

“How the devil is he keeping up with us?” Reginald asked, too disoriented now to rein in his frustration any longer. What was with this Private Tucker? Why could he just kill him already?!

**_Another_** loop when Tucker started explaining things to the Alpha and Tex had gotten into a fistfight with him this time.

But then, “Yeah, what do you want with my kid anyway?” Tucker asked just like the first time.

“You don’t... remember?” Reginald asked, just to be sure.

“Remember?” Tucker stared at him. “You never told me anything.”

“I think it worked that time,” Gamma said, having been doing what he could to temporarily change that special exemption in the programming. It shouldn’t have though... He wasn’t done yet...

“Apparently,” Reginald agreed. “Keep your eye on him next time.”

“The fuck are you guys talking about?” the Alpha asked, in its usual crude and ignorant way. “Oh, you know what, never mind.” Reginald shared those sentiments right now. This had gone on too long. “Keep talking. Waste time until Tex kills you.”

“Oh right, dear Tex. You mean, her?” Again, in exactly the same position each time. All the joy had gone out of doing it so many-

**_AH!_ **

Tucker’s voice, whatever he said, was a distant ringing in his ears.

Like the distant, searing pain ripping through his chest, coming closer and closer as-

There was...

Sticking out of him, there was...

Why was there a sword sticking out of him?

“Oh dear...!”

What else to say but that and wait for...

...why wasn’t...?

Gamma...?

...Gamma...?

_Gamma..._

~#~

“Hoo boy! It’s like a warzone out there!” Butch exited the caves via one of the high, cliff entrances to look down on the scene in Blood Gulch below.

Then he actually thought about what he had said.

“Erm, I suppose, granted, it is a warzone actually. Still, far too many bullets flying about. Those silly sim troopers!” he chuckled.

He made his way down quickly, staying out of sight easily while the Reds and Blues were so busy with their silly colour squabble. Who knows what crazy thing that O’Malley was up to now? Well, Butch kind of did since the basic plans were still left in his head, but they weren’t the thing he was thinking about right now. He was more concerned with all the dead Reginalds lying around – that was all right. He’d seen dead time clones of Reggie plenty of times – and where the living ones, or one, must be. That man didn’t list ‘escaping death’ as one of his hobbies for no reason!

He couldn’t be close. The time clones merged after death back once you got within a certain distance, or over longer distances with more time. A couple of the corpses were still bleeding just slightly, a sign it hadn’t been too long.

At least Butch had one of the few partners in the whole universe who also knew what death was like, he mused, making his way around the canyon edges stealthily.

He was heading towards Blue Base first, taking a good look around in the rock field across from the trees. All the action could be seen from there and once he had satisfied himself there were no enemies hiding amongst the rocks, he moved on swiftly to Blue Base while it was still abandoned.

After a brief rummage around there, it was a simple hop through the teleporter and,

“Hello, fellas,” Butch greeted as he walked up by Tucker; “how’s everything going out here?”

“Not good,” Tucker answered before realising who exactly he was talking to. “Hey, you don’t sound evil anymore!”

“Thanks for noticing, Private.” It was nice to know Tucker still did care just that little bit. “Yeah, being possessed by an evil force can be difficult at times,” Oh boy, had they fought over who got to be the primary one to enjoy that vegan chocolate cake Frank had left behind! “but with a little hard work, and positive thinking, you can overcome anything.”

A first couple of sniper shots hit the grass near their feet.

“I think you mean hard work, positive thinking, and no longer being useful as a pawn in their evil plan,” Tucker corrected.

“Yeah, that too.” Butch had liked to think he was one of the horsey-shaped pieces at least.

A couple more shots hit the grass.

“So, who are we fighting today?” Butch asked.

“Uh, you know, the usual. Tex, Red Team-”

“Red Team! Those old rascals! Some things never change.” Two years without him and still nothing more than a couple of new rookies. Maybe the world hadn’t changed that much for him to go back to. “Are they still wearing red armour these days?”

“Umm, yeah.”

“Oh, Red Team!”

Another shot. None had hit their target yet.

“Hey, I could use some help,” Tucker cut in quickly to this riveting verbal water-treading.

“You bet. And I have some information about the Reds that will guarantee our victory,” Butch volunteered, whatever it was that Tucker wanted help with.

“You do?!”

“I certainly do,” he chuckled cheerfully. “Would you like to hear it?” Butch asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah, I wanna’ hear it!” Tucker was starting to get a little impatient with this.

“Great!” Butch just couldn’t wait to tell him. “Because I’m just about to tell you!”

Tucker waited for it.

And Butch waited for it.

“Okay,” Tucker interrupted the suspicious pause, “why aren’t you telling me?”

“Good question,” Butch admitted slowly, waiting too. “I seem to be dramatically pausing for some-”

A sniper shot finally connected.

And red exploded out of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favourite chapters for the Reginald/Gamma interaction around the tank and Butch, Doc and Kai down in the caves. But sadly I had to follow canon.
> 
> Or do I?
> 
> The third and final story in this series will begin this time next week. The two main characters might now be dead (it seems) but we still have three main characters with a story to tell. So come back next week when things are going to get...  
> Colourful


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